Library of Dragons
by Demensha
Summary: Charlie Weasley returns home to find all is not well. Full summary inside. Post Voldemort.
1. Chapter 1

**Library Of Dragons**

_Charlie Weasley, second son of seven children, has been in the wilds of Romania for nearly a decade. He returns home to find that all is not as well as it should be and what was meant to be a restful visit, soon becomes one ensnared in a series of rather curious events. With the family ever-growing they run the risk of losing each other as another, more sinister battle looms. Voldemort was defeated, his followers disbanded but darker forces are in motion..._

_Set after the downfall of Lord Voldemort from Thursday, August 15th, 2000A.D. onwards. _

**Chapter One**

**Going Home**

Charlie Weasley slammed his trunk lid shut on his pile of clothes, books and presents for his family, acquired over the years away in Romania but never sent. He'd never had the time to and barely wrote to them. He snapped the clasps down and protected it with a locking charm, pushing his hair out of his face.

Smiling to himself, he sighed and levitated his trunk with a quick flick of his wand. Taking one last look at the room he had lived in for the past nine years, he closed the door and began the trek back to England, back to the green hills of home.

He strolled contentedly down a flight of stone steps, happy he had nothing to do, no Dragons to check up on or eggs to salvage. Upon reaching the bottom he found himself in a small internal hall with several doors of various sizes leading away from it. Taking the second largest, he entered the main foyer of the Dragon Reserve.

Light spilled through windows streaking away to the left, right and far above him. It was pleasantly warm in here, he noted, while outside a chill wind whipped around the trees. On passing the reception desk, he nodded to the just-past-middle-age woman who had become a bit like a second mother to him. Bev, she was called, and like his mother, seemed to adopt strays and waifs.

"Have a good break, Charlie," She beamed at him, waving a weathered hand.

"I will," He smiled, waving back. The doors opened to let him pass and then he was gone. The next five months would be blissful. No danger of death by dragon, no bad tempered boss...yes, life was going to be pretty sweet.

He'd worked solid at the Reserve, stock-piling his holidays up, determined to take the time to travel as soon as he had a decent amount but with the arrival of his first nephew, he couldn't stay away. He'd missed Bill and Fleur's wedding much to his mothers chagrin and could hardly blame work again. So here he was, headed to the Romanian Ministry to floo into London and then take the Knight Bus home.

He grabbed his broom from the sheltered stands in the courtyard and mounted, his trunk secured behind him. It would be a bit slow going and cold up there, but it was the best way to travel around the near-backwards rural areas of the country. He kicked off from the ground and shot up, the clouds rushing to meet him.

-

He had his trunk floating behind him, his broom held in his left hand as he entered the Ministry for Magic in Bucharest. It was an old style building that to the wizarding eye stood out among the towering white buildings surrounding it. Muggles and tourists of all kinds bustled past it, seemingly uncaring, not noticing the great porticos with the stylised arches in the eastern style.

Marble steps swept up to a portal that loomed impressively far above his head. Windows were highly ornate, getting smaller as they rose above the city streets and the buzzing population, topped by a dark roof, tiled with wooden shingles and proteced by snarling gargoyles. Banners baring the Romanian official colours and the effigy of their Minister hung like great portents of the power and majesty it held.

Charlie shook his head. So much wealth, power and not a jot spent on helping the struggling farmers, the hapless poor eeking livings from tiny settlements. Typical of the powerful people, that. Always more interested in impressing their visitors with grandeur than helping the people of their country. Sill, the muggle government was just as much to blame, having only recently dragged itself from the communist regime.

A courtyard opened before him, white marble paving stones and mosaics set within led him through into the ministry proper, that was not unlike the one in London. It was a style more typical to Romania than the Greco-Roman adopted in London. Red, gold and black daubed the walls, carpets, staircases, shot through with white and rose marbles, jade and fantastic carvings dancing across the sides. Thick set but grand fireplaces lined walls, recieving visitors at every moment, adding to the swell of magic-users coursing through the building like ants in a colony.

There were long queues forming at particular desks, mainly those of the sports department, Romania was hosting the Quidditch World Cup this year afterall. The line for the Department of International Movements, was, thankfully, short. Smiling, Charlie joined it, shoving a hand into his pocket for his money.

The line moved quickly, people hurrying to their desinated fireplaces of other means of transport and soon he was at the front. "London, please" Charlie stated in fluent Romanian. It was one good thing about living in a foreign county, you picked up the language fairly quickly. The woman on the desk pushed her spectacles up her nose and found the correct legislation instructing him to sign in various spots. He showed her his identity cards and other forms of ID at her request.

Then she stamped another document, handing it to him, and asking for the five sickles as standard fee. It was an expensive business, keeping floo routes open to ministries all over the world. He handed the coins over, taking the stamped paper. He thanked her and sauntered to the correct line on the opposite side of the hall.

Once there it was checked and stamped a second time and returned to him. Grabbing a handful of floo powder as necessary he joined the small queue for London. There was probably some hold up on the other sides. Typical of London really, always too busy. He sighed, checking the locks on his trunk again and waited.

In a few minutes he saw what the hold up was. Five stately looking officials appeared through blazes of green flame and bustled off and away through the crowds. They really should open a second floo network, this two way trafficking was dangerous. Once they were sure it was clear, the group started forwards and each one vanished in a plume of heatless fire.

It was a stomach-churning ride past innumerable grates and glowing lights of all manners. The speed hurt his eyes and flung his hair back, though he kept a strong grip on his luggage and screwded his eyes shut. Floo had never been his favourite mens of transportation, he always preferred the more traditional broomstick. He'd rather take a muggle car than the Floo.

Seconds later, green filled his gaze from beind his eyes and he was there. Back in England. Realising there was a person coming behind him some time soon, he quickly stepped out of the way and over to the porter who stamped the letter a third time with a grim face. Finding a quiet corner, he set his trunk down and cleaned the soot from his robes with a muttered spell.

He was only an hour's broom ride from home now but it was early morning here, not early afternoon as it had been in Romania. Not that it made much difference, the press of people was still the same as it always was from 6am to 6pm in the London Ministry. He considered about going and seeing his dad at work but changed his mine when his stomach grumbled at him. Better to pay attention to other needs first and see his dad at home, besides that, Arthur probably hadn't arrived at work yet.

All Charlie needed was somewhere to keep his things while he went to find somewhere he could have some lunch, or rather, breakfast. There were lockers just off from the main thoroughfare that you could use for a sickle. Once he had locked up his broom and trunk in a magically enlarging locker, he slotted the coin into the mechanism and took the key, dropping it into his breast pocket.

He left the ministry through the visitors entrance and stepped out of the red phonebox on the street, joining the thrum of pedestrians and vehicles rushing to their jobs. He fit in fairly well, with his black trousers and striped grey t-shirt. Heavy black leather boots were trimmed with steel plates, mostly for decoration and covered by his trouser legs. A jade amulet hung about his neck from a leather thong of a carved dragon rampant. In truth he probably looked like one of these muggle gothic types but he wasn't bothered.

His hair, more strawberry blonde than red like his family, was starting to annoy him but it was quickly remedied with a hair tie he fished out of one of is pockets.

Wandering through the streets of London was a strange feeling, particularly since English seemed a little odd to him now, to hear it spoken so much. Generally Romanian or Russian was used in the Reserve though many people of a multitude of nationalities worked there.

It took about half an hour to reach the Leaky Cauldron and the access to Diagon Alley. He passed through at an easy pace but didn't pay much attention to the smattering of people therein, they were all to wrapped up in their own business to care about him. The radio was buzzing away to no-one in particular. He left the pub and entered the bricked yard, tapping the wall with his wand. He waited patiently for the stonework to scrape into an archway and allow him to enter the myriad magical people in the main shopping street for wizards up and down the country.

One of the first things he noticed was the great crimson banner advertising Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and he chuckled. His brothers always did do everything in style. The swirling gold script disappeared to play a short sequence recorded detailing the effects of some of their products. He passed other shops, Madame Malkins, Flourish and Blotts and then turned into a side alley to the entrance for Pear Tree Yard, a small café he used to go to during his stays in the capital in his school days.

It was just as he remembered it. Creamy walls held dark-wood framed paintings ad shelves above had a range of parafenalia of generations passed. Tasteful jazz music played at a low volume in the background and, much to his delight, it was onlyalf full. That ment service would be quick and he could probably get his favourite table by the window looking onto the cramped garden. Sure enough it was vacant and the menu was waiting open for him on the table.

------------------------------------

AN: _The Next Chapter will be up shortly. Please read and review._

_Character ages and birthdays etc.: Arthur 56 (6/02/1944), Molly 50 (30/10/1950), Bill 29 (29/11/1970), Charlie 27 (12/12/1972), Percy 23 (22/08/1976), Fred and George 21 (1/04/1979), Ron 20 (1/03/1980), Ginny 19 (11/08/1981), Harry 20 (31/07/1980), Hermione 20 (19/09/1979), Fleur 23 (3/01/1977), William 7 months (12/02/2000), Penelope aka Penny 24 (17/07/1976)_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Library of Dragons**_

_Thanks to reviewees and alertists, more will be coming soon. Sorry it's only a short chapter. Oh, and just a quick question, would you prefer me to write omitting or not omitting deaths etc. from the seventh book (as i did start writing before then)?_

**Chapter Two**

**Woodland Wanderer**

In the depths of the forest, where skeletal trees knotted so tightly sunlight broke through in pin pricks, dry twigs crumbled beneath heavy boots. A sickly green and brown haze rose around them, disturbed into plumes of death and decay by the passing feet. The cloak, drawn tightly about him was already dusty and musty smelling, the hood shadowing the occupants face.

It was not far to his destination though the way was difficult and time seemed to stretch. He was vaguely aware of others around him, heading the same way, each with their own path to tread. If the fates decided he should happen upon these others, then he would, and he would be ready.

One dark hand, young and scarred, slipped into his robes, closing around his wand. Drawing it, he took a moment to relish its length, the ornate carvings and the precious stones that enhanced his abilities. With a lop-sided grin, he continued, unfazed by the potential threat of those around him.

Minutes slipped by. He passed over gnarled roots, ducking beneath low hanging claws of leafless twigs and moving around painful looking brambles. On one occasion, his cloak had snagged in the natural barbs, tearing the hem unnervingly loud.

Maneuvering around the massive bole of a branchless tree, the limbs long since fallen, decaying around the ancient behemoth, a silence descended. Before, the horse trill of black birds had echoed about him, nameless creatures had scuttled into shady nooks, yet now, nothing. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he paused, straining his ears.

He wet dry lips with his tongue, regretting it soon after as the foul particles assaulted his taste buds. He worked up saliva and spat. It was then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. That was all he needed to pinpoint the would-be predator.

Gripping his wand tighter he whirled about. Purple sparks splintered the trunk above his head, as he dropped into a crouch and shot his own spell into the woodland. The emerald streaks, screaming with the final cries of those he had killed before, exploded from the tip of his wand and hit the attacker square in the chest. There was a dull thud, another branch tumbled from lofty heights and then an ethereal sound, mournful and haunting, left the corpse.

Setting his mouth into a firm line, he listened again. Several heartbeats passed before a hollow caw in the distance reached him. His breathing slowed, steadying into a natural rhythm. Swallowing, he stood, shifted his shoulders.

With his arm, he pushed aside undergrowth to find the body. A pale face, eyes blank and staring, her mouth open in shock. Green robes mottled with brown dust lay beneath a parted cloak, hung to the slim frame of the now dead witch.

Quirking his head to one side he studied her. He may have considered her worth pursuing had their circumstances been different. As it stood, she had fired upon him first and there was no time for making friends in this hostile place.

Her wand was beside her, tumbling from her grip as she had fallen. With a shrug, he stowed it in his cloak and moved to examine her personal effects. Nimble fingers and keen eyes quickly revealed a small fortune and several treasures. Most important among them was a crescent of silver, engraved with symbols of the arcane. She had been a bearer then, of one of the Torc pieces.

Then, as a final measure, he stripped the cloak from about her shoulders; at least now he had a pillow to sleep on. Smiling at his fortune he turned on his heel and returned to his path. With three pieces in his possession, he had the upper hand and the knowledge put a spring into his step.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Library of Dragons_**

_Thankyou to reviewees and alertists. I will be trying to make my chapters a little more consistent in size, about 2000-ish words to each chapter to make them a nice reading size on here, but apologies if i fail to make the quota. In later chapters i will be intermingling the two areas (the Weasley's and the man in the woods) to make it flow a little better. More on that later._

**Chapter 3**

**Welcome Back**

Molly was fussing around the kitchen, at once nervous and excited while Fleur nursed her son at the table, smiling with all the warmth of a mother. The two women made a curious pair indeed, one anxious, decked in a flowery apron and rubber gloves the other serene, cool as a spring breeze mingling with the scent of a freshly cleaned room. In fact, the kitchen cum dining room had been cleaned at least seven times, the tables mercilessly scrubbed, the pots gleaming and the cat thoroughly disgruntled with the noisome activity. The only one who did not seem to care or even understand what was happening was little William, and he was but a few months old.

Attempting to calm the nerves of the older woman, Fleur suggested that a good cup of tea was the best way to relax. "Take ze weight from your feet for a time, non?" Since her pregnancy, she had mellowed somewhat, realising how dependent she was on the family around her. In fact, she had almost become bearable.

"Hm?" Mrs. Weasley intoned, having not quite registered what her daughter-in-law had said. "Oh, tea, yes, yes a good idea that." She filled the kettle, putting it to boil on the stove and lent over to check at the window again. Her boy was coming home after nearly a decade, how could she be expected to be calm? Disappointed he had not arrived yet, she pulled out the biscuit tin from a cupboard nearby, returning to the window a second time. Would he look the same? Would she recognise him?

Her anxiety manifested itself as she remained watching at the window, her fingers drumming on the side of the sink. Of course she would recognise him, what sort of mother would she be if she didn't? She shook her head, irrtated with herself for being so over-emotional. Distractedly, Molly took a sugar dusted shortbread from the tin and took a bite from it, then set it down on the worksurface.

She pulled a mug from the rack and began adding a tea bag and a spoon of sugar. By the time she had done that the kettle was whistling happily to itself and she was able to finish her drink. Filling the ceremic vessel, she replaced the kettle and then back to her vigil at the window while she let her tea mash for a minute. She hadn't bothered to ask Fleur if she wanted a cup, she was too distracted at present. What if something happened on the way over from Romania? Things were still pretty rough out there...

Behind her, Charlie had entered silently through the door on the other side of the house. Sensing movement, Fleur looked up but said nothing as Charlie raised a finger to his lips, only grinned. She had never met Charlie before, but had seen plenty of pictures, if old ones, and you could always tell a Weasley. That, and his sense of mischief was clear, glinting in blue eyes.

On practised feet he stopped behind his mother and leant his head over her shoulder. "Who are we looking for?" He said quietly, making Molly jump.

"Charlie!" She shrieked, pivoting on her feet. He barely got a laugh in as she swamped him with a hug, crushing him to her ample bosom and kissing his cheeks. "You scared the life out of me!"

Once she had finsihed petting and professing how good it was to have him back for a while, she turned to Fleur as if she had almost forgotten. "Oh Charlie, this is Fleur, isn't she a gem?" Molly cooed. "And William too,"

Charlie grinned, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Hi there,"

"Good afternoon," She smiled benignly. "And 'ow was your journey?"

"Good thanks, bit cold going over the mountains." Molly was preparing him a cup of tea which she shoved into his hands. "Oh cheers mum, good cuppa," He took a sip, leaning non-chalantly on the worksurfaces.

"Come on you, go and say hello properly, and get of my worktops!" She said, hitting his arm gently. Shaking his head and chuckling quietly to himself had took a seat opposite his sister-in-law.

Long fluttering lashes, slender limbs and a dreamy self-confidence just about summed her up. He had heard she was pretty, which she was but, truth be told, wasn't really his type. Too blonde, too airy, too thin.

In her letters, Ginny was always griping about how much a of a nuisance Fleur was but she seemed perfectly alright to him, if a little distracted by the child. Molly seemed quite taken with her too, although her letters before the wedding and indeed some afterwards hadn't been quite so pleasant as her earlier statement. Something must have changed somewhere. He mentally shrugged. Better to find out for yourself.

"So, putting up with Bill alright then?" He grinned, pushing the wisps of hair coming out of his pony-tail back. He'd started growing it the previous year, deciding a change was in order. That and he couldn't be bothered to keep going back and forth to a barbers to get it cut.

"Quite, thankyou, he is more settled now, with 'is new job in ze Bank," She was obviously very proud of her husband's achievements and clearly loved him, the sparkle in her eyes was enough to show anyone that. "We are looking for a new house zis year too, for our family,"

"Got children oriented plans I take it?" He smiled around his mug. She didn't look like the sort to have lots of children but she was a doting mother. Looks could be decieving, he knew, it was a saying that had kept him alive on more than one occaision when working with Dragons. Even the smallest, scrawniest reptile could kill someone.

"We were thinking of taking it slowly, but I don't want more zan two. I would love a little girl next," Her attention was quickly shifted from him to the gurgling infant. Cooing and playing with William's little chubby fingers was a warming sight, one he was sure he would see very often, what with his mother and her affinity for children. It was a shame Bill wasn't planning big, it would just mean he would have to settle down and start on his own family a little sooner than he'd hoped.

"You think Bill could manage a girl? I mean, it took my mum and dad six tries," He chuckled along with Fleur, waiting for the tea-towel missile he was sure would follow from his mother. As expected the red and green patterned cloth hit his back with a good aim, showing Molly's years of practice.

"What do you fancy for dinner then, hm? Your choice, love," Molly said, bustling over. Charlie, in mid-drink started up.

"That reminds me, hang on a minute," He set his tea down on the table and left his mum looking bewildered.

He strolled into the hall to the trunk still downstairs and flicked it open with his wand. The lid raised itself slowly allowing him access. He quickly found what he was looking for in a wooden box about the size of a hand and around two inches deep. He also pulled out the silk scarf laid on the top and two smaller boxes. It was a good job he had checked which ones were which before he had departed.

Once he returned to the kitchen he set the things on the table, the first box he placed on the flagstones. Fleur looked at them curiously, while Molly peered over Charlie's shoulder, standing on her tip-toes to do so. "Engorgio," He whispered and in a moment, a box bordering on the size of cargo crate sat on the floor by the table.

"Alohomora," And the lid vanished, revealing straw protecting a number of fairly large, wrapped packages. They were at least a foot across and fairly soft, yet rather weighty. He pulled the top one off and opened it on the table top.

"Eugh! What is it?" Fleur asked pulling a face.

"Dragon joint. Courtesy of Hans Christoff, my superior," He laughed at the looks on their faces, Fleur's being the opposite of Molly's awed silence. "It's good stuff too." Wrapping it back into its oiled paper, he passed it to his mother and then took the other two remaining to hang with the rest of the meat. Yes, dragon for dinner, good cup of English tea and already scared is mum witless, it was good to be home.

A quick wave of his wand sent the crate to the garage and then he settled back down to his tea.

"This is for you as a sort of welcome to the family thing. It's a bit late but I hope you like it," He pushed one of the smaller boxes towards Fleur who put on a good show of thanks and modesty. Inside was a silver necklace hung with a blue sapphire. It was a pretty sort of thing, feminine and ideal for the french woman before him.

As soon as his mum rejoined them on the table, having set the meat to cook and washed up, he passed her the silk scarf and the remaining box. The scarf was tastefully decorated with small flowers and gold threads, the sort of accessory that could glamourise more or less anything Molly wore. The bracelet was gold too, and held letter charms, one for each child. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and lastly, Ginny.

Tears pricked at her careworn eyes and she quickly put the bracelet on, only to descend on him in a loving bear-hug, complete with kisses. "You like them then?"

-

Nearly two hours later, the smell of the cooking meat was delicious. Molly had just started putting the vegetables on with Fleur, William up in his crib sleeping. The rest of the family would be tumbling in from work soon enough and Molly wanted to have dinner finished and on the table by the time they did. Everything had to be perfect for Charlie's return.

Charlie, meanwhile, was showering, having spent the last hour settling in and unpacking. He sang a Weird Sister's song quietly to himself, spitting out the warm water and screwing his eyes shut as he rinsed the conditioner out.

After a few minutes he stopped the flow of water and ran his hands through his hair, sighing contentedly. He stepped out of the cubicle and grabbed a towel, drying himself off. Once he was satisfied, he brushed his teeth, combed his hair through and dried it with a quick spell. Towel secured around his waist, he strolled down the landing and up a flight of stairs to his room, situated next to his youngest brother's.

Arriving at the squashed but cosy bed chamber, it wasn't long before he was dressed and whistling happily to himself. Today would be a good day, see all the family again, and the new faces coming in. It was comforting too, being back in his old room, the familiar narrow bed, dipped in the middle from years of use, the rickety drawers, the slanted window above.

Piled on his bed covers were the presents for the family and two bottles of well made, spicy wine. He'd acquired a taste for the stuff over the years and had it on good authority it was a vintage that went well with dragon. Mum was probably still brewing her own, but it was nice to have a special wine sometimes.

Running his hands through his hair, he pulled out the bag he used to shove his laundry in back at the Reserve and began to put the presents inside. Carrying them down the stairs, he heard the door close a male voice shout "Mum, we're back," He didn't recognise it, so it was probably one of his younger brothers. He wasn't sure who the 'we' was, but decided it was likely to be the twins.

As he came into the kitchen he realised he was wrong, unless one of them had dyed their hair black and started wearing glasses. No, this was Harry and Ron and they were currently pestering Molly as to when dinner was ready. He put the bag at the side of the table gently and smiled.

"When it's ready you impatient sod," He chuckled, making the two young men whirl around. Merlin, they'd grown since their first year. Mind you, Charlie himself had filled out more since then, and gained a few scars too. "Alright there ickle Ronnikins?" He chuckled and embraced his younger brother, with old fashioned manly back slapping to boot. "And yourself, Harry? Taking good care of our Ginny I hope," He said, shaking the wizards hand.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Charlie looked over his shoulders. Here were Fred and George, speaking in unison to emphasise their point. They really were too alike sometimes. "Nice to see you again, mate,"

"Oh get out of the kitchen, you lot, go and sit in the living room!" Molly huffed, shooing them out of her work-space. "And dinner won't be long!" She cried, slamming the door in Ron's face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Library of Dragons**

_Thanks to reviewees, alertists and the kind person who put me into a C2. Comments are welcomed graciously. This is the first chapter where the two points of view are mixed. More locations are coming into the equation too._

**Family Dinner**

He stared at his reflection in the black slime of what had once been a pool of some kind. At the far end, a partially rotted carcass lay half-drowned in the stagnant liquid. Perhaps a kneazle. The stench made him wrinkle his nose but it was not unbearable. The path had led him here but it ended too abruptly at the waters edge for the bank to be his destination. Pondering the thought, he had tried to seek the answer in the black depths before him.

A thought then occured to him that perhaps the pool was in fact only a large puddle and he was wasting precious time staring at it. He had to find a way through it, the idea of deviating from his course unthinkable. What if he lost the path on the other side? He didn't want to cause too much disturbance either. If it was indeed a deeper body than he had anticipated it could be home to any number of predatory creatures.

Pursing his lips, he pointed his wand to the water. An incantation flashed throuh his mind and he set to concentrating on the tainted magics about him. The poison flowed thick and strong through them, it would take more effort than usual to create a solid platform from them, though it was nothing he couldn't handle. Swallowing, he frowned and mentally grasped at the tendrils, moulding them into a sort of bridge.

Satisfied with the construct, though mostly transparant, he squinted to see it better and stepped up onto it. He crossed easily, feeling quite cocky that he hadn't even broken a sweat over the complex spell. At the other side, he disipated the magic, spreading it back to its original form. He couldn't leave the bridge for others to pass over the inky waters.

His celebratory grin at the small victory was short lived as the odour of the festering kneazle carcass washed over him. He grimaced and set to finding his route again.

--- --- ---

"Did you hear?" Fred grinned, leaning conspiritorially forwards, his twin quickly taking up the chorus.

"Ginny's tying the knot,"

"Closing the trap,"

"Imprisoning poor Harry for life," George finished, throwing a cushion at Harry.

"Shut it, I asked her, remember," Harry mumbled, a flush patterning his cheeks.

"Congratulations," He beamed. "Good to have you join the family proper. Speaking of Ginny, where is she?" Of all his siblings, his little sister was the one he missed the most, he decided. Ginny was the only girl for several generations in the Weasley family and she was a right little fire-cracker.

"She was right behind us," Ron shrugged. "Probably went to wait for 'mione down the drive." So the clever witch he had seen briefly on the tower nearly nine years ago had been pulled into the family too. Their conversation switched tack then, to the movements of the Quidditch world, the joke shop and latest music, eating up the minutes of the afternoon and punctuated with hungry, gurgling stomachs.

Ron and Harry were entering their last term in their Auror training, ready to take on dark magic users at any turn. It was something they had done by accident for years, so being paid for it was only a bonus, plus they had an arsenal greatly increased by their study. Fred and George's joke shop was a booming business, and the pair were deeply ingratiated in relationships themselves. Alicia Spinnet, renowned Chaser of the Wimbourne Wanderers and Angelina Johnson, famous WWN radio presenter- well his brothers had always had good taste.

The company was only missing two of the six brothers now and just as soon as the thought entered Charlie's head, did Percy bluster through the front door. From his place he could see the bespectacled office worker struggling with a case and an armful of files. He'd brought some work home apparently.

As he was kicking his shoes off, Bill barged through, knocking into Percy and sending the papers flying. Of course, the occupants of the living room found this hilarious and Bill, despite his apologies was struggling to keep a straight face.

"You great oaf!" Percy bellowed at the taller, burlier man. "Watch where you're bloody going!"

"I said I was-"

"Do you have any idea how long it'll take to sort through this mess!" He scrabbled on the floor picking the parchment up and stacking them haphazardly. "That's five weeks of work, Bill! Can you even comprehend what five weeks of work looks like! Hours of filing ruined!"

"Now hang on Percy-"

Yes, it was good to be home, nothing like a good row to remind you of it.

-

"Mum, I'm home! Is Charlie here yet?" Ginny, definately. He grinned and shouted to her.

"In here!" Soon enough the young witch had bounded through the door and virtually leapt on him in a very Molly-like fashion. When greetings were finished, she went and sat on Harry's lap, perched happily, talking animatedly, when Hermione peeked around the door. She had been taking her shoes off and hanging up their coats. It wasn't polite to invade on people's family time.

Charlie saw her first, his attention grabbed most definately by deep hazel eyes, unruly curls and nicely fitting clothing. "Hi, Hermione, right?" He asked, cutting through the conversation and standing up. Fred and George exchanged glances, grins tugging at their lips. She nodded and entered fully, offering her hand to him.

"Charlie, as you probably guessed," He chuckled, introducing himself and grasping her hand warmly. "Come and grab a seat,"

Hermione passed him a little shyly, taking the only available seat that would be next to Charlie's When she was comfortabe, he plonked himself down, nonchalant. She subconsciously tried to squash herself into the arm of the two-seater settee, not wanting to be too close.

The company laughed at a joke Ron had shared, but Hermione had missed it. Trying to correct her lapse in concentration she merely broadened her smile, hoping no-one would pay too much attention to her. She mentally chastised herself and forced her ear to the conversation, not wanting to seem impolite.

-

En masse, the much enlarged family trouped into the kitchen, offering comments on the great smell or how much they could eat. Bill was already opening the wine, passing one to Fleur to fill glasses at one end of the table and the second to Charlie. The dark red alcohol gave of a fine fruity flavour and seemed to go down a treat as several sampled it.

"Ooo, this is nice, where'd you get this mum?" Ginny inquired to Molly who was busy dishing up. Over the general hubbub the question went unoticed by her but Charlie told her he'd brought it back with him. Banter quickly resumed, a lot revolving around the food prepared.

Charlie sat to the left of his father's usual seat at one end of the table, while Bill was opposite with Fleur. Next to Charlie was Percy, Fred, George and Ron. Hermione was sat next to Fleur, Ginny beside her and Harry on the other end. When Molly joined them she would take her place at the opposite end, mainly so she could keep and eye on Arthur and everyone else at table. Although, of Arthur, there was no sign.

Then the plates were floated to each person, an array of wholesome, tasty looking food topped with vegetables, potatoes and good helpings of dragon-stock gravy. Charlie rubbed his hands and picked up his cutlery. How he'd missed his mum's good cooking! The melt-in-your-mouth way she had of cooking meats, the way she managed to get her veg just so and always exactly what people liked. Then a thought hit him. His mum had wanted everyone here, but his dad was missing.

"Shouldn't we wait for dad?" He asked, loud enough for the assembled company to hear. The silence that followed would have, to an outsider, suggested that Charlie asked to let a giant eat with them. Uncomfortable silence pressed in on all sides. Curious, nervous, Charlie looked at his siblings, wondering why everyone was either looking guiltily away from him or glancing at Molly for her reaction. What had dad done this time?

Probably bought a lorry full of rubber ducks and stashed them in the garage. He remembered how his mother wouldn't talk to Arthur for two weeks when he'd bought the Ford Anglia all those years ago. Catching on, he looked over at his mother too, waiting, expectant.

What he got was a forced smile, that didn't reach her eyes. "He's working late, tonight, love, he'll be home soon," And then she sat down, tucking into her food in silence. Percy, Harry, Ginny and Ron copied her. Fred and George, Charlie noted, were looking at each other in that knowing way. Fleur offered more wine to try and help ease the tension.

"I'll take some," Hermione smiled. And then a slow buzz of conversation leaked in from Fred and George about expanding the shop. Charlie, more concerned now, looked at his eldest brother, meeting eyes for a moment. He was slowly cutting a potato, but looked up, a strange, sad expression on his face. He shook his head, pursing his lips. It seemed to say that he shouldn't mention their currently absent father.

The second Weasley son returned his attention to his food, but he'd lost his appetite. Something was up and he didn't like the sounds of it.

-

About thee-quarters of the way through the meal the earlier uneasiness had almost dissipated. Relaxed conversations switched back and forth over the table, though Molly remained, for the most part, quiet. Charlie decided it best to talk to Bill about it later, he'd seen he'd upset his mum. Better now to enjoy the rest of his meal and the time with the rest of his family.

"...well, I'll be ready for promotion again in about six months, most likely," Percy was saying. "What with the rate i'm working at, I shouldn't wonder that i'll be considered for a position on the department council within a few short years," Percy had swaggered around for weeks, telling anyone who would listen about his prospects and even now didn't hesitate to drone on and on about the internal workings of the place.

"You always say you'll get a promotion, Perce," Ron laughed, excusing himself from the table. "You'll be telling us you're running for Head of Department next," The men shared a laugh at Percy's expense, but the bespectacled red-head bristled and puffed himself up. Ron's reasons for leaving were lost in the following eruption from his elder brother.

"And why not? Why couldn't I? Of course, I'm not ready yet, but mark my words, in a few years-"

"Go for it Percy, don't let these idiots put you down," Hermione put in. She was a very encouraging and supporive sort of woman, Charlie saw. He liked that in his women, strong and optimistic.

"See, Hermione agrees with me. Thankyou, Hermione, at least there's some intelligence on this table,"

"And what are we then? Chopped liver?" Charlie chuckled, nudging his brother in the ribs. As he glanced across the table he caught a pair of hazel eyes in his own blue ones, his smile broadened briefly.

"Yeah, come on, give us some credit," The twins chorused. "It takes a lot of brain-power to do what we do," Percy bridled at that, swelling with self importance and looking ready to take the legs from beneath the twins.

"Well-"

"Perce," Charlie intoned in a voice that commanded quiet. Sure he'd got his attention, the elder Weasley continued in a more genial manner. "Come off it, we were only having a joke, we know you work hard and it does pay off in the end. You should take a break now and then, from work and talking about it," He knew his brother had a short temper and would deal out blows that would leave you smarting for hours, verbal ones at least. It was better to calm him before he got too angry and said something he'd regret. He felt a little hypocritical, though, telling his younger brother to take time away from his job, when Charlie himself worked six days a week, every week.

Percy lapsed into silence, polishing off the last few mouthfuls and sipping thoughtfully at his wine. Quiet presided over the table now, just the efforts of slicing food and drinking wine audible. Percy sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. He swirled the crimson wine in his glass, chewing the inside of his lip.

"I'm..." People paused, curious now. "Well, I'm going to ask Penny to marry me...I just thought you ought to know," He chanced a sidelong glance at his mother who was beaming from ear to ear.

"I think I might have started a trend," Bill laughed.

"I like Penny, she's nice" Ginny offered, smiling.

"Congratulations, Percy!"

"Oh no," Fred and George joked. "Not more women in the family," They sported teasing expressions at the three women opposite them and were rewarded with grins and shaking heads.

"That's wonderful news Percy! Your father would be so proud of you, making an honest woman of her," The smiles faltered. Molly's face fell into an unusual mask of melancholy. She hiccoughed and covered her mouth, her face tinging pink. "Excuse me," Her voice was strangled as she pushed herself away from the table and left the room, head low.

Charlie was bemused, worry flared to the forefront of his thoughts and he looked questionably at his family. Some were going to stand up but Bill was already on his feet. "No, I'll go," He said quietly, dropping his napkin on the table and following his mother. Ginny sat back down, Harry took her hand, rubbing the top gently with his thumb.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Charlie frowned, his eyes shifting from face to face. His brothers wouldn't answer him, Percy had his head in his hands now.

"It's- It's your dad..." Harry began, at least he had the guts to tell him.

"Is he ok? He hasn't been hurt or anything at work has he-" Charlie gabbled and Harry shook his head.

"No he's-" But he was cut off by Ginny running out in floods of tears. Upstairs, as if on cue, the baby started crying too, mirroring the atmosphere below him. Fleur excused herself quickly. Charlie looked then at Percy. He was the next oldest, surely it was his duty to explain what was happening.

"What did I go and say a stupid thing like that for?" He moaned, hands tangled in his short curly hair. Fred and George were there though, pulling him to his feet and away. They had gained some compassion it seemed and at, in Charlie's eyes, a rather inconvenient time.

"It's not your fault, Perce,"

"Yeah, mum's just hurting is all, she really is proud of you..." Fred's voice faded away down the corridors into the warren of a house. Say one thing for the Weasleys, say they could weasel their way out of almost anything.

A chill had crept over Charlie now. What was wrong? He couldn't be...dead...could he? No, he would have got the letter surely, his mum would have wanted him to know. What then? Where was dad and what was going on? He took a gulp of wine, scowling. Hermione cleared her throat and Charlie looked at her, as if he'd quite forgotten she was there.

"I think...perhaps we should go outside to talk..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Library of Dragons**

_Thankyou to reviewees and alertists, comments are gratefully recieved. Chapter 5 here. The next will be coming soon._

**Starlit**

"You see, I told you he would come," The woman giggled as the lanky red-head entered the candle-lit room. It was one of the private chambers in _The Comet,_ a pub not too far from the Ministry of Magic, and was warmly decorated with a comfortable mish-mash of furniture.

The assembled people, of which there were eight, all appeared to be doing well for themselves though were modestly attired in simple work robes, a casual gathering of established Aurors. Ron grinned at the woman, placed a quick kiss on her waiting lips and dropped into the seat beside her.

"Alright, 'me?" He inquired, squeezing her knee affectionately. Warm fingers found his own, lacing between them. She nodded, her other hand already grasping the firewhisky bottle.

"We had quite given up on you, Weasley," The dulcet tones of Vance Hart-Baxandale, cutting through their intimate moment, were accompanied with a superior smirk. "Glad you could deign to join us," The wealthy wizard raised his glass in welcome, his chestnut hair barely moving with the slight nod that followed.

"Pleasure's mine, Vance, besides," He shifted gaze back to Amelia, taking the tumbler of amber coloured alcohol she offered, promptly ignoring Vance's tone of voice. "I'm sure you all know what these family gatherings are like," He winked at her, making her smile.

She was an attractive woman but his senior by at least ten years. He wasn't overly concerned, just a little apprehensive of introducing her to his family, especially since she had been an ex-girlfriend Bill's when he was at Hogwarts. Thick yellow-blonde hair to her shoulders, full lips, a good figure and a reputation as a successful Auror to rival even Moody in his hay-day.

"Quite," Vance began to lack the almost passable friendly air, his half-smile becoming more like a sneer of disdain. "Some of us are, thankfully, blessed with small families,"

Ron shrugged. He'd spent seven years putting up with the pompous git, Malfoy, and wasn't about to get riled up by some too-rich-for-his-own-good fop like Vance. He was just jealous that he had missed out with Amelia, Ron decided. "Anyway, what were we talking about before I butted in?"

"We were just complimenting 'melia on her lovely choice of jewellery tonight," A plump witch Ron recognised as Elsie Squires, a woman who had been in Percy's year, put in, smiling.

"Yes, Weasley, what do you think?" Vance's self-important tone had returned, along with the smirk. The attention of the company was directed to Amelia's throat as she raised her chin to show of the necklace that rested across her nicely defined collarbone. It looked egyptian in style, like wings of a bird shaped from silver, curving in a wide 'U' shape with a turquoise scarab in the centre. "I picked it up in Libya last month, paid a small fortune for it, but it was worth it, particularly when the recipient is so deserving,"

Rage boiled inside of him at the smug look on Vance's face. Ron knew he could never have afforded anything like that, well, at least not yet. And who did the cheeky bastard think he was, buying stuff like that for _his _woman? The muscles at the side of his jaw worked but he fought the frown from forming. He wanted to seem mature infront of Amelia, wanted to be a man about it. Taking the blow with as much grace as he could muster, Ron forced a smile onto his face.

"Good choice, though an emerald would have been better." The rest he directed to the blonde witch beside him. "It would have picked out the colour of your eyes," Satisfied at the brief flush that patterned her cheeks, he shot a challenging look at the wizard opposite. Luckily, Amelia managed to direct the conversation elsewhere, knowing that Ron, despite his temper and determination, would not stand much of a chance in a duel with a seasoned and cunning opponent like Vance. She hoped to smooth the tension building between the two men at least enough to get through the evening.

Not only that, but she wanted the young man to make a good impression, this being the first time he had been in such company. Promotion and acceleration in the ranks of the Auror training were not all bought with hard work in the field, no, many indeed were borne from the social circles and the ability to aclimatise. Unfair, but very true.

The youngest Weasley male had soon forgotten about the verbal sparring with Vance Hart-Baxandale and was instead now focused on the perfect form of Amelia's lips as they pronounced each syllable. The gentle curving of her painted mouth as she smiled or laughed at some joke he had only half heard made his thoughts slow and treacle coated. The fine lines forming around it, at the corners of sparkling eyes, all of them seemed to fade from her features and he did not see a woman on the cusp of middle-age, no, he saw the youthful, beautiful, fancy-free girl she was at heart.

He admitted as much to himself that here was a woman he would gladly spend the rest of his life with despite the difference, despite the opposition his family were sure to offer. He loved her, it was true but the question yet remained of where her heart lay. They had only been in a relationship a few short weeks, having been on their first date back in June, and he was unsure whether she could fall for him that quickly.

In all honesty, he was unsure whether she could ever love him. She was successful, mature, and sought after. She could have any number of men, older, more cultured and not to mention wealthier than himself. Her affection towards him in public was restrained, conservative, so much so that he sometimes wondered if she was merely humouring him; poor, young and naive Ronald Weasley. By the end of the evening though, his misgivings would be so far buried he would even forget about them for days, until their next meeting.

The evening drew on in a number of drinks and conversation, most of which were beyond Ron's field of knowledge. Still, he laughed where he was supposed to, offered opinions where he could and made sure he was friendly to as many as he could. His ability to adapt so readily into company was a skill he had begun to adapt since joining the Auror office, seeing as the likelihood was he would have to work with a good deal of them and it was better to be on good terms than bad.

--- ---- ----

Her curly hair bobbed against her back as she walked towards the end of the garden and there was enough sun to send a red glow shining through it. Swarms of gnats grouped lazily in the air just above their heads, swifts and swallows whipping through the amber and gold of the fading day. Had it been any other night, had the mood been as fresh and light as it had been before dinner, he would have enjoyed the temperate climate. Had it been any other night, he would have been more interested in the woman before him.

Once she reached the wall, she stopped and rounded on him, eyes gleaming in the half light. Worry demolished any inerest almost any other situation would have had him blushing cherry red at.

"I just want to know what's going on with my dad, where is he for one?" Charlie's voice was low and strained. He shouldn't have to be told this by a guest in the Weasley house, one of his brothers should have told him, or better yet, his own mother. Betrayal and disappointment snaked around the knot of anxiousness forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Somewhere in London, we think,"

"You think?"

"Yes, he was rather vague in his letter." Charlie went to interrupt her again but she hurried on, determined to explain quickly. "About four months ago Arthur came home from work early. Molly and Fleur were food shopping so the house was empty, we were all at work. He packed his trunks, left a note on the kitchen table, and...well...he's gone..."

"What do you mean gone?" He couldn't believe this. How could his father leave? Leave his mother and his family?

"He left mum?" Hermione pursed her lip.

"Yes... he left..." Glancing away, swallowing the limp in her throat, a cold feeling of hurt, of loss, of memories oozed down her back, setting the hairs on her arms rigid. Molly had been a very different woman since then, more nervous, more protective, easily upset. She was scared of losing her family, of being left alone and unwanted while the rest moved on and forgot all about her. With Bill moving away soon, it was, in some sense, an understandable fear.

"To do what?" He was staring at her expectantly, sad blue eyes, piercing on the pale and freckled background of his face. He looked so vulnerable that it caused a wave of guilt to almost smother her. He shouldn't have to hear what she was telling him, a grown man or not.

"He left-" A resolute sigh left her as she started again. "Arthur left to...to marry a muggle woman,"

"What?" His dad was a bit nutty, yes, and he loved everything muggle, but he loved Molly more, he always had...hadn't he? "Why would he-"

Hermione shook her head, curly hair shivering. "It was completely unexpected and just after your parents had been out for their 35th wedding anniversary. No-one saw it coming...least of all your mother..."

Charlie felt numb, empty. His earlier shock and anger faded into nothing. He stared at Hermione, searching her eyes for some lie, uncertainty and sorrow apparent on his handsome features. She closed the gap between them, folding him into an embrace, her head resting on his chest both to comfort him and banish the feelings in herself.

---- --- ---

The blue glow of a magically contained fire flickered around the half-crumbled ruins setting shadows dancing. He did not intend to stay too long, just to regain some strength, perhaps a few moments of sleep. The cloak he had taken from the woman earlier that day was rolled up beneath his head, wrapped tightly in his own cloak to keep out the unnatural cool. Even the warmth from his spell-cast fire was not able to entirely disuade the chill from creeping around him.

He had continued on his path through the rotting woodland for a number of hours until he had stumbled once too often with fatigue. Not too long after crossing the fetid water he had happened across a building so far consumed in dead fauna that it had been unsuitable to stop there. It was some hours before he had found his current sleeping place.

Although the roof had long since decayed, the walls were still high and the forest had been kept occupied with earlier constructs, a delapidated wall, an outbuilding of some description. A few dry vines had crept through the doorway, spilled over window ledges. The air here was thankfully a little cleaner, the trees knotted together to give a view of the stars above. The gases and the magical fonts of the area enhanced the glittering brilliance above him.

Dark eyes scanned the heavens, his mind wandering. When he had the pieces he would be able to truly see his name painted up there. In fact, he had already chosen the stars he would use. He smiled, the fine scars licking up his cheeks like flames pulling the flesh, flickering almost. It was a little presumptuous of him, perhaps, but he was destined for this.

Raising a finger, he amused himself joining up the silvery spheres. It had been a habit of his, back home in the dunes where the stars were unequalled. Yes, he thought. Just here, where all can see it. _Akhim._


	6. Chapter 6

**Library Of Dragons**

_Thankyou to Reviewees, Alertists and to the second C2 community i have been put into. This chapter is focusing entirely around the Burrow, hope you enjoy. More coming soon._

**Friday Morning**

It was late when Ron finally returned home, a smudge of peachy red lipstick standing out on the white of his collar. He was more than a little tipsy and was currently staggering somewhat up to the house. With one hand fumbling in his pocket for his keys, his other held onto the door frame to support himself. The porch light flickered, as it always did, just in case Arthur returned.

With a little difficulty he managed to find the right key and let himself in, relocking the door as best he could in the dark, the hall light having been put out when the last people had gone to bed. He groaned, rubbing a tired hand down his face. He could have stayed with Amelia, but no, he had work early in the morning and she had a day off. If he had, he knew she would have tempted him to stay, weakened his resolve enough to make him go back to the comfort of her bed, the warmth of her arms.

Groggily, he reached the foot of the stairs but stopped when he heard muffled voices coming from the living room. Somewhere in his mind he knew it was past midnight and the Weasley's were always ones for a good nights sleep. As their words reached him, he recognised who it was.

"...you can't blame yourself, you couldn't have known it was going to happen," Hermione was saying. She was probably comforting Ginny, Hermione had done that so often when Harry had been absent. Ron shrugged and turned to go to bed.

"I will find him, though, and I _will_ bring him back," The voice was far to deep to be his sister. Which then made him wonder, which of his brothers was up talking to _his_ ex?

"...can't stand seeing everyone so...so down and tense."

"Nor I," Hermione again. "Bu-"

"If I bring him back I can at least get some kind of closure on the matter. Him and mum should never be parted for too long..." Charlie, Ron deduced, his elder brother Charlie was talking to Hermione. The realisation made him lose track of the conversation for a minute. He had always been wary of leaving Hermione in the company of his brothers, being well aware of the twin's dark fantasies of her, even the curious glances he had seen Bill shoot her on occaision.

"...always used to lecture us on responsibility and sticking together through everything." Charlie was walking agitatedly around the living room now, his footsteps saying as much. "The next thing I hear is, he's off with some whore in London and has completely abandoned his family, the family that _has_ been with him through everything-"

"Charlie..." Ron could just picture the scene, she would be stood before him, those big hazel eyes boring into him. Maybe a hand resting on his arm. He had seen it often enough, she had been there so many times with himself, with Percy, with George. Some time ago it would have insighted a jealousy that could have seen Charlie with a broken nose, so to speak, but no longer.

"-through the bloody weird habits and obsession with plugs and merlin-cursed rubber bastard ducks-" She would be moving closer now, waiting for the crescendo and the inevitable fall that would have him crumbled, holding onto her for dear life. "-through the shitty job and hospital visits and constant worry that one day maybe, maybe-" He could hear the catch in Charlie's voice, the fall was coming. He didn't want to hear any more. He knew what his brother was saying was right but he had accepted his dad was never coming back. His dad was a waste of air as far as he was concerned. Setting his jaw, he turned away and left the hall, finding his way as quickly as he could manage to his room.

-

The following morning had Charlie up with the sun, breakfasted and out in the crisp dawn sunlight. Attired in knee length shorts, grey t-shirt and running shoes, he was going over his quick warm-up routine of stretches and speed jogging on the spot. His long hair was nipped back in pony tail and quivering with every movement. Once he was satisfactorially limbered, he cracked his neck once, twice and set off at a jog.

By the time he had reached the bottom of the drive he was running at an even pace, his breathing measured. He crossed the single-car-width road and levered himself over the style onto a public path in the fields beyond. The grass had already been felled and bailed into great rolls and so his steps were sounded out with the crackle of stubbly stems.

It was a routine of his at the Reserve, to take a long run every morning as his job demanded him to be physically fit. Mainly in the event of his broomstick being damaged or he should be found without one when working around the reserve. It helped too, seeing as the climate was bleak and harsh, with keeping out the biting wind.

Despite having had only a few hours sleep, his body clock was still working to the timings of nine years and although he knew by lunch he would be fatigued, he couldn't help it. His rest had, however, been fitful and plagued with worries and plans to find his father, all haunted by a set of hazel eyes.

The morning air, laced with a refreshing breeze helped dispel his nocturnal misgivings, his mind focusing instead on mainting his pace, keeping breathing and remembering the route. The field ended with a dry-stone wall and a sheep bend which he managed to squeeze through and into the next expanse of hay bails. In the minutes that had elapsed, during which he had reached the opposite side of the third field, his thoughts had once again returned to the conversations with Hermione.

They had stayed outside for a while, talking quietly, mulling over reasons but all had been considered and re-evaluated. Time seemed to pass quickly, though the patch of flattened lawn Charlie had made with his pacing showed it had been a while. As the lights had dimmed in the house, the cool wind blowing in had forced them into the living room to comfy chairs. She had been consoling and temperate until he had happened upon the idea of seeking his father out. Her tone then had become one of warning and rational thought.

It made sense though. Find his father, get his answers and hopefully sort out this huge mistake. She had tried to dissuade him, shaking her head vehemently, saying it was a fools errand in somewhere the size of London. His argument however, was that if he had married this muggle woman or changed his name or anything like that, there would be records of it. Besides that, a man as eccentric as Arthur Weasley would not be too difficult to find.

Suffice it to say, his countering words were enough to make the clever witch sigh and reisgnedly offer her help. It wouldn't be easy though, Charlie wasn't stupid enough to think it would be. There would be a hell of a lot of hardwork ahead of him and not all in keeping it secret from the rest of the clan. Although that would be a challenge in itself. Keeping any kind of secret for long in the Weasley household was near impossible.

Upon entering the next field, Charlie found the path tracked the wall instead of cutting through the centre and so he turned his footsteps to follow it. It wasn't long at his current pace before he was rounding the corner and heading towards the next style to the woodland beyond. Once there, he left the beaten trail and into the more dense, untamed forest.

--- --- ---

Hermione rolled over and groaned as the sunlight hit her full in the face. Rubbing sleep-filled eyes she eased herself into consciousness, pushing covers away and sitting up. Standing she stretched and yawned widely, covering her mouth politely. An idle hand scratched at her opposite arm as she looked at the clock ticking away on the wall. 7.36am. Wincing at the short amount of time she had before needing to leave for work and cursing her lack of sleep.

She had stayed overnight at the Burrow, it being too late to find the road where the Knight Bus would pick her up. Being the gentleman, Charlie had offered his room to her, taking the sofa down in the living room, despite her protestations. She had slept in his room on several occaisions before but then it had been moderately empty and devoid of the various posters, books and paraphenalia of a Dragon Tamer. He was tidier than some of the other Weasley sons, she had noted as she drifted to sleep.

Picking up her wand from the bedside table, she flicked her wrist, cleaning herself up at least to a degree in which she could tolerably work in. Replacing it, she dressed in the spare clothes in her bag, having learnt from her time at Hogwarts that it never hurt to be prepared. The Weasley's were such that once she got started, it was hard to leave their company and so it was on many occaisions that she had found herself overnighting.

Once she decided she was passable for her job, she left the room, her bag and wand in possession and tip-toed down the stairs. Entering the hallway on the ground floor, she found Ron's over-robes and shoes missing, the peg below the carved name being empty. Percy's too was missing but then he had always been the more industrial, at least with work, of the boys. Well...men.

Strolling into the kitchen she flicked her wand and set the kettle to boil, needing her cup of tea to kick start her. She would take Charlie one she decided, it being unlikely he had slept well on the sofa. Dropping her bag onto the table, Hermione moved about fixing herself breakfast, humming quietly to herself as she did so. If she was at home, Crookshanks would have been rubbing at her legs, yowling to be fed or else begging for attention. It was a little odd, even now, when he wasn't there to greet her in the mornings, stretching his bandy ginger legs and arching his back, showing off his impressive size.

With the merry whistle of the kettle on the hob came the sound of the back door opening and closing. She poured the boiling water into two mugs thinking it was probably Molly sorting out the chickens returning for her own breakfast. The smell of outdoors wafted over the rich blend of tea, easing her still slightly foggy senses.

Two hands slipped around her waist. She tensed, feeling the warmth of the other person as they pressed their chest against her. "Thankyou,"

Charlie.

No sooner had he spoken than he had let her go. Hermione looked at him, letting out a breath of relief. He was sweaty, blotchy triangles trailing down his neck and back, dampening his hair to an auburn shade. With his arms bent to press a red check tea-towel to his face, the firm musculature standing out made a tiny, inner being raise it's little eyebrows, impressed.

When he removed the towel with a gusty sigh, Hermione jumped, returning her attention to the mashing tea. A faint blush patterned her cheeks. To have been caught staring would have been painfully embarrasing and she had been staring.

"Tea?" She asked, enquiring if he wanted the cup she had already made for him. What had he been doing to get so...so...she snapped the train of thought there. This was a Weasley and no matter how handsome, charming or muscled he was, there was no way she, Hermione Jane Granger, was going to even think about entertaining a school-girl crush.

"Please, that would be fantastic," He grinned, grabbing a pint glass from the cupboard near her. "Just have a drink of water first - oh, milk, one sugar," While he drank his fill of cool tap water, refreshing himself after his time running, which he put at having been somewhere in the region of an hour and twenty minutes, Hermione finished the tea.

"Did you sleep ok?" He asked, taking the mug she had left for him. Hermione had already seated herself at the table, sipping cautiously at the hot liquid. She put it down before replying, in which time Charlie had leant against the worksurfaces and was now watching her, waiting.

She nodded. "Yes, I slept like the dead, your bed is that comfortable."

"Thats good to hear," He set his mug down and grasped the collar of his shirt. "Sorry, do you mind if i take this off, i'm sweltering," He had however, removed the saturated t-shirt before she could even utter a response.


	7. Chapter 7

**Library of Dragons**

_Thanks again to Reviewees and Alertists. Just a quick point to clear up, i know i say Hermione's middle name is Jane, this is according to a quote from JKR in 2004 i think, though it changes in book 7. I have always used Jane so i apologise to readers who find it annoying etc. Thanks again._

**The Crows Song**

Akhim woke with a start to the not-quite-darkness before dawn. His spelled fire still flickered and dipped, all seemed as it had save for the position and clarity of the stars. From that he gauged he must have slept some three hours or so, much to his anger. He had lost precious time already and sleeping was not the way to gain the upper hand, despite having three pieces of the Torc. From a lofty perch, a crow creaked the dawn chorus, harsh as the forest that held it.

Hurriedly, he snatched up his make-shift pillow and doused his blue flames, brushing off the fresh layer of poisonous dust. He stretched only once and barely yawned. He was ready once again to embark.

Drawing his wand, he avoided debris and crumbling stonework and the badly lifting floor tiles. Coming to the end of that he passed onto a stretch of dry earth on which nothing grew. Here, Akhim could still feel the resonance of black sorcery though most would have mised it in the quagmire of sickly magic about them. It was understandable nothing should grow here, and nothing ever would, he noted, with the putrification of this place.

Soon he came to the strangled walls marking the boundary of what may have been a fine house, centuries past. He stepped over them with ease, his robes moving easily over the masonry and returned to the decaying woodland. His path was still traceable, thankfully, though it felt a little weaker than before. Akhim picked up his pace while around him, as if disturbed, crows shook coal black heads and joined in the hoarse serenade.

-

There. Akhim grinned, his breath coming quicker now, excited. He was close. Very close. His heart thundered, his eyes glittering, hungry. He had a stand of earth to pass over, little more than a bow-shot and then...

Yes, he was mouth-wateringly close to his prize and he could sense no others nearby. A gurgle of laughter escaped him which he supressed quickly. It would not do to be spotted here, nor to draw attention to himself. Though, he would be forced to be in the open for an uncomfortable length of time and some could move faster than he. It would be worth it, he was sure.

He swallowed, wetting his unusually dry throat. His hands gripped his wand tighter, his eyes darting about the clearing edges, though they strayed back to the location of his prize on more than one occaision. No, he had to take this cautiously.

The light was still sparse, the sun being but minutes from rising. If he was to go, he would have to go quickly and in the cover of darkness, the easier for him to remain unseen. It would be difficult and the magic in the clearing would be complicated. Focus was vital if he were to arrive at his prize in good order. Once he had obtained it, he had little to fear but until then, he was painfully aware of his mortality.

A fourth piece, from Bastet, daughter of Ra. It was a treasure too great to miss and too powerful to let it fall into any other hands but his own. The cat goddess and protector, whatever she had posessed would grant its owner unrivaled defences, though it was not infalliable. Akhim's excitement diminished at the memory of a story told to him years prior.

Bastet's amulet could turn, it could leave its wearer bereft if it so chose. It was defeatable, if there was a bigger prize to be found elsewhere. Akhim had to make sure that there wouldn't be a prize any greater than what he proposed- no, what he was destined to do.

Setting his mouth into a grim line, he concentrated once again on the chords of tainted power about him and set to manipulate them. He needed cover, he needed to blind eyes and deafen ears to his passage, confuse those who could waylay him in his task. Words in a tongue long since adultered tumbled from his consciousness, his left hand spread claw-like to guide the fonts to their duty.

At first he felt their resistance, how soe closest seemed to shy away from him almost as if fearing pain. A second incantation lured them close, a third bound them tightly. Sweat blossomed on his forehead, rolling down scarred cheeks and leaving grubby streaks on his dirty face. Still he persevered, knowing he could not stop now, so close to his prize. He could feel the energy seeping away from him, it was more complex than he had thought.

Now his breath came ragged, and it was not through the excitement of gain. He could feel his heartbeat battering at is ribs like a newly caged bird, he could feel the heaviness of his limbs. The magic here was greedy it seemed, to take and corrupt what had been pure. He realised his mistake too late for the words would not stop, leeching from his mind as though borne to legilimens for the first time. He tried to drop his arm, halt the spells but they moved of their own accord, his wand trembling in his grasp.

His eyes shot wide. From somewhere, an influx of power suffused his limbs, saturating every ounce of his being. He did not have time for confusion, the new magic, being stronger, truer than any he had sensed or felt before, burst forth. It pinioned the darker fonts to their appointed tasks and filled him with a new lease of life. He felt invigorated.

As his heart fluttered quieter, strong but steady, he felt a warmth within his robes, pressing against his ribs. Slipping his left hand with the black swathes of cloth, he drew forth the Crescent of Isis, the silver crescent he had taken from the woman the previous day. It was hot to the touch, though not scalding and even as he held it, he felt the heat dispersing, the metal cooling.

Surely, this was a sign of acceptance. The Torc piece had healed him and aided him, helped him command that which threatened him. Unable to stop his glee, he laughed, pocketing it. Around him, the spells held sway, shrouding every other creature, be it beast or bird, in silence. He was the chosen, then, it truely was his destiny.

-

At the half way point, Akhim felt the spells shiver around him. They were weakening and he had been dawdling. His second mistake, he realised with a flush of irritation. Throwing aside decorum, for there were none to see it, he broke into a jog and then to a sprint desperate now to reach his prize and depart, ready to find his next item. He would be one more step closer to reforming the Torc, one more step to achieving the previously unachieved.

His feet thundered on the dead earth, leaving imprints as he raced onward. His robes billowed behind him, his arms pumping to propell him, he was gaining ground swiftly. To his right, one of the restraining bonds snapped and a chord of dark magic lurched inwards. Akhim's eyes flicked over to better view the diaphonous cloud and a shiver of terror pass through him. The magic would follow him and would feed from him.

Through the stitch that was forming in his side, being unused to running, Akhim pushed himself faster, panic feeding his energy. The forest boundary apprached quickly to his relief but he did not stop his pace. Although he couldn't see it, he could sense the predatory magic behind him already feeling its weakening nature.

Despite the leaden quality to his limbs, Akhim forced himself on, desperate and so close to his destination. With a cry he burst into the forested protection in a shower of dust and cob-webbed leaves. His momentum carried him forwards, his eyes stinging with the clogged air, his lungs screaming for oxygen and into a wide archway of stone. His shoulder smacked painfully into the stone contruct and he tumbled in a heap between its stone feet.

The fall left him winded, clutching his ribs and choking. Akhim lay there for several minutes, sure he was dying. The blood vessels in his head and neck pulsed, his legs and arms in time making him twitch like some marionette on string too long to pull properly. His whole body ached both with exertion and fear. The black magic would be upon him soon, draining what little he had left. Thoughts flashed through his mind then, as to whether he had been found unworthy and Isis had simply used him. He knew the God's could be cruel but using him for their own entertinment was base. No, he chastised himself, do not think such herecy.

Having regained his breath somewhat, although still unable to properly move, Akhim looked about him. He was beneath and archway he knew. It looked out of place in the dead woodland. A single arch rearing from acrid dirt to serve a purpose long since decayed. A crow cawed.

But this is where it should have been, everything his dreams, his senses had told him, stated as much.

_At the arch so too hangs another, gold and heavy, restraining bonds and supporting arms._

Where was it? He could see no golden arch, nothing to show it had ever been there save for the bare stone above him. Doubt tore at him, he had been so sure, so sure he did not understand he could have been wrong. He had failed so quickly. Staggering to his feet, his teeth grit, he looked around again, scouring every last twig for any sign he had been right. A flash of silver winked in the corner of his eye. His head snapped around and he saw it. At the top of the archway, wending its shimmering way closer too him, an influx of pure magic descended. It broadened with the stone but went no further than the solid boundaries. Akhim's mouth parted in wonder.

As the magic fell upon him like a length of softest silk, he sighed. A warm caress, welcoming arms, enveloping him and drowning out the crows. The deathly trees and poisonous dusts were shielded from his eyes. Fatigue was wiped away, the angry bruise forming on his shoulder, forgotten. He felt safer, comforted, and silently enraptured. His physical body became lighter, rising from the ground. The shimmering curtain of magic grew brighter still, swallowing him in its reasuring folds, washing away all doubts. It suffused his limbs speeding through them and tingling, enlivened at his fingertips, his toes and bubbling within his chest, riotous and hot. It drew him closer and closer, bearing him upwards, forwards, onwards.

_This is, truly, the touch of the God's._

---------- ----------- -----------

Hermione sighed, a faraway look in her eyes, a hint of a smile on her face. It was easily the fourth time that day she had slipped into daydream and neglected her work. Her morning had definately been memorable. Alright, so he only walked around for a while his shirt off, showing her every muscle and scar and the very impressive tattoo on his back. Still, it was not something she, a very prim and proper witch, saw often.

Fantasising about Charlie Weasley's torso was far more interesting than the leigslation she had already re-done five times for the pernickity Goblin she negotiated with. Far more attractive, too. The only downside was the paperwork would be waiting for her when she returned to reality. That, and she wasn't scheduled to go for dinner at the Weasley's again until Tuesday.

Which reminded her it was Percy's birthday on Tuesday. It brought crashing back into the present, silently cursing. She hadn't had time to buy him a gift yet, or even a card. She was at her parents for the weekend and back at work again on Monday, unless she-

"Hermione?" It was Laura, the receptionist for the Department of Liasons, Magical Creutres Division. Hermione looked sharply up from her work, hoping it looked like she had been doing some, and focused on the other woman. Once Laura was sure she had Hermione's attention, she continued. "There's someone out front to see you, if you have a minute. No appointment." Laura shrugged.

"Oh," Mentally thanking whatever sentient being existed for the more than welcome distraction from her work, Hermione nodded. "Of course, tell them i'll be out in a moment," She smiled at the receptionist who had already acquiesced and was returning to her work station.

Miss Granger pushed a lock of curly brown hair away from her fact, straightened her shirt and slipped her shoes back on (having the bad habit of taking them off to feel more comfortable at work). Once she was satisfied she looked at least presentable, for in her line of work, appearances could be very important to an overall opinion, she left her pokey little office and began the short walk to the front desk.

"Charlie!" She grinned when she saw the stocky red-head waiting by Laura's desk. A winning smiled was flashed in her direction as she approached. "What are-"

"Just dropped by to see if you wanted to go grab some lunch, or something. We can have a proper chat then," Although Hermione knew he meant talking about finding Arthur and other such related things, Laura did not. The amused expresion the receptionit was sporting was visible in the corner of Hermione's eye and she could already feel a blush creeping across her cheeks. Why did Laura have to chose now to make assumptions?

"Sure, I'll just grab my bag-" She began, already turning to retrieve it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Library of Dragons**

_Just want to put forth another apology, for my diabolical spelling this time. I've been typing on a laptop (which is hard!! it's flat! Lol) and in Wordpad minus spell checker. Hopefully now though, my spelling and typo's will be pretty good. If that makes any sense...  
_

**Searching**

Swathes of amethyst, jade, sparkling sapphire undulated, shot through with hues of ruby, shimmering silver and glinting opal, the colours coiling and writhing, mixing, blending. They passed Akhim or maybe he was the one passing them, he could not tell. He was in a portal of some description though whether it would take him anywhere remained to be seen. He didn't feel like he was moving, more like floating.

Awestruck, he reached out to the tendrils, needing to touch, experience the magic that fed them. It was warm and rich but it parted like liquid. It rushed over his fingers at a heart-stopping speed and he withdrew his hand quickly. It was moving faster than he had expected. He felt invigorated. This world he found himself in was working around him, as the planets did the sun.

At first, he was not sure if he was imagining it, but he could have sworn that the colours were growing brighter, more intense merging together. As the rainbow around him blazed pure white, all doubt was stripped from him. The barest hints of jewel-bright shades flickered from time to time but the white grew stronger, blinding him, cleansing him.

When the light faded and he became aware of his surroundings once more, what he saw stole his breath away. If the portal had been fantastic, this was an astronomical brilliance in material form. Gold glittered on every surface, mounted high, plates, goblets, rings, chains and jewels, rivers of jewels seemed to flow as light flickered and glinted from their many facets. Hangings, cloaks and myriad garments were arranged with crowns and headdresses of ages far past the ancient's of his homeland. Precious stones carved into beasts and arcane symbols, blooming in the riches around him and all encaged within magnificent marble pillars.

Standing, agog, Akhim watched a single piece of the treasure raise itself up and hover towards him. He held his breath as realisation swept over him that this was the symbol of Bastet he had been looking for. Although it was confusing, it was no golden arch as foretold, but a cat's eye, the pupil narrowed into a predatory slit. Soon enough it was but inches from him and urging him to take it. Raising his left hand, he reached out and enclosed it in warm, trembling fingers. He drew it close to him, cradling it to his chest as a mother to a child.

An itching began at his consciousness then a presence made itself known. It was distinctly female, exceedingly proud and dangerous though for the moment, it was welcoming and gentle. The impression left on the gold piece was old, ages old, and the speech was difficult to follow. It was fast and fluid, rolling syllable after syllable in the oldest of tongues into his thoughts.

_"Greetings, young one. You have been accepted, and the burden you bear will not be simple. Strength and Honour. Show these, and protect you, i shall. Revere, mortal, and respect us."_

"So say you and so shall it be," His command of the old tongue was course and harsh to the ear in comparison to the sultry tones of the Goddess that spoke.

_"Go now and find the pieces to our puzzle. That which you sought by prophecy, has moved._" Akhim could feel the voice fading from him, he had to ask quickly if he was to find this golden arch.

"Where? Most honourable one, where might i find that which i seek?" There was a desperate edge to his voice, the presence almost completely faded but a pause made him hold his breath. He did not want to miss a single word she whispered. The Goddess was silent for a time, thinking it seemed, or sensing, seeking it out with powers unknown to Akhim.

_"When they came, some months gone, and gifted it to him, i heard him thus named; ...Weasley,"_ The name jarred, jutted from the smooth flow of speech like a callous on hands unused to work. Then the impression faded completely, and Akhim slipped the cat-eye into his robes beside the rest. So, he had to find this...Weasley fellow and in turn, would find the arch of gold.

------------ ----------- --------

"I've been doing a bit of digging-" Charlie began reaching inside his enlarged pockets and pulling out several sheets of paper. "-I figured that if dad married this woman, it would be on record at a church or registry or something," He dropped them onto the table and started to leaf through them until he found the place he wanted. "And you reckon he's in London somewhere, so I've been to tree different tourist information thingies and erm..." At this, realising Hermione was not verbally responding, he looked up, his voice trailing off. "...got a list of every one of them in London."

Hermione's expression was one of silent dejection, a very subtle shift of her eyebrows, a minor drop to her shoulders and her lips parted ever so slightly. Charlie, not knowing the hints of emotion the clever witch showed, took her expression to be one that indicated she was troubled, or rather, what he felt to be the safest option. He had heard from Ginny that Hermione was a woman who needed to be treated like a dragon; with extreme caution.

"Are you ok?" He asked, concerned. His mind was flying at the speed of a firebolt, wondering if he had said anything to upset her or worse, done something. Maybe he had been a bit over familiar with her this morning? Well, he had been grateful that she had told him of his father's absence, had listened to him, and offered to help him. It was understandable that he should be friendly towards her. But then, the women in the Reserve were so very different to the woman infront of him. Maybe he'd been in the company of such forward people too long to know the least offensive way to show his gratitude in the usually more conserved British society-

"Yes," She said abruptly and smiled half heartedly, taking up her drink, diverting her attention. "Just, work stuff, you know..." She shrugged and then proceeded to study her fingers. Charlie, knowing enough of women to realise she was clearly lying or else down playing it to the point of a lie, was currently weighing up his choices. He could press the matter, offering her the same assistance as she did for him the previous night but would probably make her irate; or he could ignore it and continue, again irritating her; or change the subject. Deciding the latter was probably least likely to annoy her, he took a drink, lengthening the pause between them and waited a moment to broach a new topic.

"Oh, that was something i was going to ask you," He grinned, setting the glass down in a fashion that said the thought had just entered his head. "It's Percy's birthday on Tuesday, I just wondered if he'd mentioned anything he might like. It's just I've been away so long i barely know my own family that well anymore." He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

Thankfully, Hermione smiled and shook her head. All evidence of her previous mood melting away, it was like some spell had been lifted. Perhaps, Charlie thought, she was upset about Arthur leaving too, and he was closer within the family than he had assumed.

Of course, he couldn't have been further from the truth. It wasn't a case of what he _had_ done, but more with what he _wasn't_ doing. Having the guy she had literally just been thinking about, conveniently turn up at her workplace and ask her out to lunch can let the mind wander and encourage hope to flourish where there is no ground for it. In short, a small part of her brain had convinced her this was going to be more than a friendly chat. Once she had silently berated herself she had pushed the disappointment aside, as she had done so many times before, and thrown herself into the conversation.

"I have no idea, i haven't even got round to it yet, I've been so busy."

"Typical of Percy, isn't it? He has to be the difficult one," Charlie joked. "If it was Fred or George, even Ron, I'd know what to get for them, but Percy?" He shrugged, letting the sentence hang.

"I was going to go shopping before i went to my parents', tomorrow, like a loner," She laughed, hoping he would take the hint. Of course, he didn't. Typical Weasley.

"How are they, by the way? I heard you're dad hadn't been too well recently," The concern he held was genuine, she could see as much, which caught her off guard and dispelled her negative thoughts. Although whether that was to do with him caring or those blue eyes...she couldn't really tell. Still, it was touching.

"Good, yeah, my dad's better now, still off work but then that's to be expected. Mum's holding up alright too," She smiled in a way she hoped would show she was grateful to him. The people at work were not exactly the sort of people to ask her about her father and truly mean it, him being muggle and all.

"He's going back to work? Merlin, if that had happened to me, i would have taken an early retirement," George Granger had suffered a minor heart attack some months previous through a mixture of stress, over work and under exercising. In his fifties, the successful dentist had been growing quite large about the middle, indulging in too much fine food and good wine. A man of taste yes, but with a lifestyle that he could only support through his income, something his body could not take.

"He's as stubborn as an ox and probably would have gone back to work sooner if the doctor hadn't ordered him to stay off,"

-

Once he had paid for lunch, after copious protestations from Hermione, Charlie walked her back to her office, finally broaching the subject of Arthur. He had explained to her his idea of visiting the churches and registries in the diocese of London and inquiring after a wedding in the last few months. It would be an simple task but painfully repetitive. Deciding it was best he started that afternoon to get a head start, he bade her farewell (an embrace which he felt he had prolonged a little to much...) and apparated to his first port of call.

If he was going to find his father, he would have to be systematic, eliminating area after area. His reasoning was that, once he found where his father had married this muggle woman, if he had indeed done so, he would be able to find the address they had lived at. Starting by post-code was his first idea but then his father may have decided that the inner city was far more metropolitan and muggle. After deliberating, even though it may take a little longer, he thought it best to start by post-code.

The first he came to was _St Dunstan and All Saints Stepney. _It was a pretty sort of place in a surround of neatly kept lawn, the sort of church stereotypically associated with weddings in the muggle world. Confident, Charlie approached and entered through an arched doorway. The stone floor was old and a little dusty but the pews were polished and fresh flowers lined the hall. Stained glass windows depicted people and symbols he didn't quite know, but were nevertheless beautiful, despite the wire mesh that covered them to stop vandals.

As he wandered a little lost in the unfamiliar place, his feet echoed hollowly around him so he was surprised when somebody cleared their throat behind him. Charlie whirled and took in the appearance of the suited man before him. He looked quite smart, his hair neatly trimmed, his shirt done up to the top button and a curious white collar in place of a tie or cravat. Charlie felt suddenly very conspicuous with his long hair, rather informal attire and a dark feeling of trespassing on someone's beliefs.

"Can i help you at all?" The man asked. His voice was even, his smile pleasant.

"Erm...do you...work here?" Charlie asked, a flush rising up his neck. His brain seemed fuzzy and his thoughts slow. The man nodded, his smile widening a little.

"Yes, I'm the Reverend here. The Reverend Christopher Burke," He offered his hand by way of greeting, silently ask to know the name of the red-haired visitor. Charlie shook it.

"Charlie Weasley, nice to meet you." Letting go of the man's hand, Charlie cleared his throat and began to try and phrase his question. "I...erm...I was wondering if you had performed a marriage ceremony here recently?" The curious look on the Reverend Burke's face told Charlie that was a stupid thing to ask.


	9. Chapter 9

**Libary of Dragons**

_Sorry for the Late update, but thanks to the people who reviewed and read. Here's more._

**Breeze and Drizzle**

The following morning was populated by squalls of drizzle and a chill wind, but that did not stop Charlie from his dawn-time routine. Dressed in the same shorts as the previous morning and a fresh t-shirt, the Dragon Tamer ran onwards, his eyes squinted to protect them from rain stinging at his cheeks. The salty drops ran down his face and back, mingling with the sweat shivering over his body, drenching him.

The sun was late to show itself but that was mostly due to the black clouds reflecting Charlie's mood. He was not irate through the weather, more through his lack of progress. He had visited around fifteen churches the previous afternoon without so much as a whisper about his father. Still, what could he have expected? London was a huge city and Arthur but one man. He could not get upset because he hadn't succeeded straight away.

He had other things to look forward too, besides, and couldn't go around with a face like a wet weekend, even if it was raining on a Saturday. Percy's birthday was fast approaching and a Weasley party was always a good laugh.

Charlie's feet squelched on through a field to the next style that met him. As he crossed it, he happened to notice an old farm of some description. It looked abandoned, which wasn't uncommon in this area. Farmers usually sold up to their neighbors and the house they had lived in wasn't needed. Picking his path back up, Charlie continued on his way, his breathing coming slightly heavier now.

--- --- ---

"Morning," Amelia smiled drowsily at Ron in the half-light of the bedroom. With a cool hand she traced a line down his bare chest, pausing at his navel and the line of dark hair snaking from it. A soft kiss was left on his freckled shoulder.

"Morning, love," He kissed her forehead, drawing her to him. The contours of her warm body felt right against his own, skin on skin. "Sleep well?"

She nodded. "Like the dead, though someone tired me out last night," She grinned and pressed her lips to his."

"Not too tired I hope?" He smiled roguishly. Amelia giggled and kissed him again.

"Never too tired for you,"

Last night Ron had sighed into her ear, confessing his love for her. She had clawed at his back, nipped his collarbone and later, when he was spent and trembling, she had whispered to him in the darkness. _And I love you._

The older woman, still spry and flexible from her Auror training, easily straddled his narrow hips. When he tried to protest, she used one hand to push him back into the pillows. She had made him work for her for the last few weeks, making him strain for every drop of perspiration she sweat but had learned it seemed. He wasn't the only one who had been quivering. Now it was her turn to work for him, a sort of reward as she saw it.

--- --- ---

Akhim had found his way out of the treasure-filled chamber and into a half-buried pyramid. It had been dark and claustrophobic in the ancient limestone passages, a maze of shadowy hallucinations cast by the magic-light he conjured. Hieroglyphs and paintings of the Ancient Ones skittered away above and beneath his pathways. He had found his way out after some time and more than a few wrong turns.

Sand shifted beneath his feet, caressed his bare cheek as the wind brushed past. It was dark out here too, but spangled with constellations and the air was alive and warm. He raised his face, eyes closed to it, relishing in the freedom and openness. His hood fell backwards and his arms stretched outward embracing the breath of the Gods, the invisible mares that rode upon the wind's back.

When he looked back to the pyramid, he could not see it. For miles around him, further than his eyes could see, dunes stretched across the horizon. The sands seemed silvered in the night, desolate and beautiful. They rose and fell like gently whispering waves, undulating but barren. Another test from the Gods. Cross the desert and live, find the pieces of the Torc that belonged to him. If he died, none would mourn him.

His sense of freedom faltered. He had no water. He had no food; no shelter. But he was a wizard, he had two wands and was chosen by the Ancient Ones to bear their symbol. He could summon water from the depths and crystalise sand around him for shelter from the merciless desert sun. He was strong.

He didn't ask how he knew which way to go, which invisible path he was to take. The same pulling, the same certainty as in the dead forest some time ago drove him onward. He turned westward, where during the day the sun would be at his back and full in his face as it set, bleeding, into the sands in the evening. As he took the first step in the new direction a shiver ran up his arms, dancing around tattoos and scars and youthful contours.

A smile tugged at his lips, broad and proud, thrilling at the new feeling. Before, in the forest, he had felt a minuscule equivalent and only when he was closer to his quarry. And before he had acquired his third piece, he had felt nothing until he touched it. It seemed the more Torc Pieces he acquired the stronger the sense of its presence in the world became. It would become easier, he felt, and rightly so, holding more items of the Gods.

His feet at first sank into the shifting grains of sand but a quick spell remedied it and made his path less tiring. He walked as the heavens turned above him, relishing the cool breeze, letting the wind-mares nuzzle at his bare fingers and feeling the company of the ancient magic that touched him from afar.

--- --- ---

Later, in the kitchen, once Charlie had returned from his run, he stuck the kettle on to boil and was wiping his torso and head down with a towel. He sighed resolutely. He could only try again. He would find-

"Charlie?" The French accent to his name made him turn and regard his sister-in-law, who, in her long silk dressing-gown, looked far out of place in the Weasley household. Although a few hairs were wiping from a thick blonde plait, and she was in her pyjamas, he found it hard to believe that she slept at all. Well, Bill would often look like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards when he got up, while his wife was the complete opposite. "Could i trouble you for a cup of coffee?"

She smiled warmly at him and he felt the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. He nodded, smiling in return but looked away from her. She was part Veela, he had been told as much, but falling for his brother's wife was out of the question, besides the fact he would never have normally found her to be his type.

"How do you like it?" He was also thankful she could not see the self-conscious blush rising up his neck to his cheeks. She could see every inch of his torso, the musculature, the tattoo and the myriad scars. He wouldn't have minded Ginny seeing, she was his sister. His mum would have probably whacked over the head for the tattoo and as for Hermione...well... But Fleur was different. She was, as many would see it, a class above them. She came from a well-off family, pure-blood through and through and was well bred and educated. He was rough around the edges, and for a pure-blood, fairly low in status.

"Black wiz two sugars, if you please," He heard her take a seat at the table behind him. He waited for her comments while starting to make the drinks. As he expected, she did comment, but it was not worded how he would have thought. "You must be very brave, Charlie, to 'ave such scars,"

"Thankyou..." He said uncertainly. He had been called many things, but brave was not one of them. Stupid, careless, seasoned, yes, but not brave.

"You were a Gryffindor too, ah?" Charlie nodded. "This whole family is trés courageux." She was quiet for a time. The tea-spoon Charlie was using clinked against the cup sides as he stirred her coffee.

"From ze dragons?"

"Hm?" Charlie turned, the two cups in his hands, setting them down on the table.

"Your scars are from ze dragons you work with?"

"Oh, yeah," He sat down opposite her, still a little uncomfortable but mellowing.

"And you work abroad?" Again, Charlie nodded. "So you speak many languages?"

"Erm...Nine, including Egyptian thanks to Bill, though my French is dire," He took a gulp from his tea. "Why do you ask?"

She smiled though her voice held a tremor she couldn't quite mask. "Curiosity, I suppose...I..I know so little of you..." Charlie dismissed it quickly, however. He wasn't one to pry. Let her keep her secrets. "Anyway, i must go and see to William, he will be 'ungry by now I am sure," She stood, her coffee in hand and moved to leave the kitchen.

"Oh, Fleur, you don't know if my mum's up yet do you?" The veela turned suddenly sad eyes on him.

"I have not seen her since Thursday night. She did not come down for any of her meals yesterday. We left her dinner outside her room, knocked to make sure she was ok-" She was cut off by Charlie passing her in the doorway. "Charlie-" But he was already up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He needed to make sure she was alright; his mother _never_ refused to leave her room, she had too much to do.

He turned left at the first landing, passing Percy's room and then took the three steps to the annex his parents had shared. The tray outside the door held the remains of the past night's meal. It had been picked at he saw, the cutlery was used and the glass was empty. Now he was here, he was not sure how to go about it. He felt like a child again, about to breach the sanctuary of his parents room.

Steeling himself, Charlie knocked twice on the door and waited a moment. There was silence on the other side of the door, but that wasn't to say she hadn't used a silencing spell. He turned the handle. Locked. A quick spell removed the manual lock but the door still held fast.

"Mum?" Charlie inquired. No answer. "Mum, open the door," He tried to open it again but it simply rattled in its frame. "Mum! Open the door!" Louder this time and more forceful. "For Merlin's sake, open the door!" He banged on the wood with his fist. Percy's door opened behind him but Charlie ignored it. He was focused on his mother's room. "Open-"

The door swung inwards.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Serious apologies for my several months away from this fic. Here's Chapter 10. Number 11 is under construction and I hope to have it up soon. Demensha.

**Chapter 10**

**A Lead**

Sleep permeated Charlie's senses – the pale light seeping through the curtains, the rumpled sheets, and the sound of steady breathing overridden by the scent of morning thickening the air. Stale perfume wrapped loving arms around his neck and drew him further into the dimness and the door closed quietly behind him.

His parents' room was not overly large, little bigger than his own but a double bed had been squashed in, two wardrobes, cupboards, chests of drawers and a much-diminished pyramid of trunks. Looking around, he saw the well-worn comfort his parents had lived with all of their married life. Faded carpet, greyed wallpaper – the little roses dimpling it muted, all the furniture battered and scratched. The nick-knacks though, were all belonging to his mother, the laundry in the open basket, the pink slippers askew beneath the bed. There was little trace of his father left, a few scattered photographs in age-tarnished frames and a tasteless muggle tie, offensively colourful in the husk of happiness.

The silhouette of his mother showed her to be lying on her side and in the shadow he could see she had her back to him. Her breathing was regular but heavy as though in sleep or-

A sniffle permeated the muffled room. Sedately she rolled over to view him and suddenly he didn't care about what she'd say to his tattoo, or how she would chastise him for being in her room, all that mattered was that his mother was soothed. The half-light caught on the crystal of tears she had wept moments before, drying on her weathered cheeks. The smile she gave him was one of false recognition; the eyes saw someone else other than Charlie.

"Gideon…"

"Mum?" Charlie dared to move closer to his mother's side. She had rolled onto her other side now and was reaching a hand to him. Finding his, Molly pulled him closer and he sat obediently on the bed. The smile became smaller.

"You look so like you're uncle, Charlie…" She stroked his hair away from his face with a sad smile. "How I miss him. He would have known what to do…"

"Are you alright mum?" Charlie's voice was quiet, exuding a concern barely masking the semi-frantic emotions a parent in distress evokes in a child. She sighed in manner all mothers must when hiding the crushing feelings they bear.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine Charlie. I just…I miss your father, you know," Her work roughened hands rested lightly on his bare forearm, but her eyes told him through her sorrow that she was ashamed of showing this weakness. It was not so much describable, but more…tangible. He could sense it.

"I know…" Charlie trailed off, his voice failing him. He loved his mother dearly, but he didn't know her that well at all. He'd spent the years where a child creates an adult understanding with his parents on the other side of the world, chasing dragons. Before this once-strong woman, he was powerless.

When Molly reached both her hands up to him and drew him down into an embrace, Charlie went willingly. Her plump arms held him about the shoulders, his own arms finding a way about her person, two friends, saving one another from drowning. He felt her give in first and her whole body shook with suppressed weeping, dampening his shoulder as the tears flowed freely. He may not have felt it himself, but in him, she had found the strength she needed, the solidity to bear her soul.

"It's ok mum, everything's going to be just fine, I know it is." Charlie whispered to her. "I'm home now, and you'll have another daughter soon…in Penny I mean…Penny and Percy…don't you worry about a thing…"

-

Exactly what he said, Charlie couldn't remember over an hour later, when he was showered, dressed and traipsing from muggle church to muggle church. All he knew is that a greater responsibility had settled around his shoulders. He needed to find his father, yes, and he needed to bring him home, not for himself or his siblings, but for his mother. He'd made a similar pledge a few days prior, but now he truly meant it and it had only made him more determined.

He was approaching the third in a fairly long list when he noted, oddly, the amount of people milling around. It was strange for a Saturday, that everyone should wish to come here, he thought. He turned onto the path to the main doors when a woman dressed in a rather formal gown caught him.

"You must be Dean! One of Steve's mates?" Charlie, bemused, eased his arm from her gloved hand and shook his head slowly.

"No, I'm Charlie-"

"Oh, that's it, sorry, I'm terrible with names," The woman was certainly friendly with short dark hair, but otherwise she was of little remark, unless her clothing options were to be taken into account. Charlie decided it best to smile and humour this strange person.

"Don't worry about it, get it all the time-"

"First I was I was mixing Pete and Kevin up and then I was calling Annie's new feller Angus," She shook her head, beaming, a flush in her cheeks. "Ah, it's a shame they had to go early – it's the baby, see – well, little one's on its way soon isn't it?"

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, though he didn't have a clue who any of these people were. When the bells began to chime in a deafening peal and all around surged forward, Charlie found himself dragged along with the tide.

"Oh here they come! Hope I get the bouquet!" The crazy-lady grinned at him. "Though I spose you'll be wanting it for Tracey, hey?" Charlie smiled and nodded, uncomfortable. Then a couple emerged, the man in a smart black suit with a top hat and the woman all in white. A flood of embarrassment and stupidity swamped Charlie. Of course it was a wedding, it was a church, for Merlin's sake-

The woman and several others behind crashed into him as they grasped for the tumbling bouquet the bride cast backwards into the air. The dragon tamer only just managed to free himself from the scrum that ensued, edging through the crowd to the wings to wait for the commotion to die down a while.

-

Gradually, when the crowds dispersed in a number of cars, after copious amounts of photographs – three of which he was dragged into despite his protestations, Charlie made his way into the church. The electric lights above did little to dispel the ecclesiastical gloom that seemed to mute everything about. A cleaner in a blue checked pinafore was polishing the pews while a second was plumping the bouquets that lined the aisle.

"Excuse me," Charlie asked the flower-arranger, his voice respectfully hushed. It was curious to think that such a happy rabble had only just left this calming place. "Could you tell me were I might find the priest?" The woman smiled lightly, though deep lines were visible at her eyes.

"She's just making us a cuppa, did you want her?"

"I just wanted to ask her something, so if I can I'd like to talk to her," From his little experiences of priests, he didn't think they'd make drinks for the cleaners. They'd always come across as a bit high and mighty, a class above the rest, so to speak, for all that they were pleasant and approachable.

"I'll just get her for you, love," She dropped a yellow duster onto one of the pews and bustled up the aisle towards a back room. There was a brief exchange and then she returned with a plump woman in tow. The cleaner smiled then returned to her work.

"Reverend Lillian Eason. Would you like to come through?" They shook hands and Charlie smiled politely. Muggles seemed to do this sort of thing a lot, Charlie found, to break the ice. Still, for all of her smiles, he noted her quick appraisal and watched her pass silent judgement upon him. What she thought of him, he was unsure, her face gave nothing away.

He followed her back along the aisle and into the warm and bright kitchen so that they might have some privacy to talk. A white plastic kettle was just reaching boiling point, the steam dampened the egg-shell coloured cupboards above. Two chairs were crammed either side of a steel-legged table.

"What can I help you with, then young man?" She was reaching for a plain yellow mug that hung on a hook beside a few others, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"I'm looking for my father actually. I've been out of the country for a while and I don't have a forwarding address for him. All I know is that he got married in the last three months." Before Lillian could interject, Charlie hurried on. "I know it sounds crazy, but I was wondering if you had performed a wedding ceremony for a man named Arthur Weasley," Charlie licked his lips, gazing imploringly at her, hoping against hope she would say yes.

"Weasley? Weasley…" She rolled the name across her tongue, pondering at the sound and trying to dredge up a memory. "And what did you say your name was?"

"Sorry," He apologised, for that formality had completely escaped him. "I'm Charlie Weasley – Charles if you prefer," His brows had knit together, silently pleading with the reverend.

"Hm, it sounds familiar, but I definitely haven't married a chap named Weasley. You don't know who he married at all do you? It might make things a little easier for you…" Charlie shook his head. He would just have to step up and move on to the next church.

"Well, thanks anyway, reverend-"

"Just wait a minute, let me just ask Constance, she'll know," Lillian left the kitchen and Charlie, rekindling a spark of hope, followed her out. This was turning out to be a little easier than he had anticipated. At least he hoped it was. If Constance knew of his father he could track him down, and- and what? Force him to leave his new wife and come home?

Lillian smiled reassuringly at him and called to the cleaning woman who was busy polishing the woodwork.

"Constance, you don't happen to know a fellow named Arthur Weasley at all do you?" The second cleaner looked to be in her mid-sixties, the sort of pleasant woman who showed pictures of her grandchildren to anyone who took a vague interest. She looked up from her efforts, brushing a neat grey curl out of her face and exhaling.

"I've heard the name," She thought for a moment, her lips twisted as she did so. "Erm…wasn't that woman called Weasley? One who left early – middle of the ceremony?" This question she directed the first cleaner, who had paused to listen.

"That tall chap's missus?"

"Yeah, the one with the red hair –"

"Oh! I know who you mean!" The first cleaner beamed. She rested her hand on her hip getting into the swing of the conversation. "Yeah – though what she's doing with a chap his age I'll never know-"

"Ahem," Lillian cleared her throat to purposefully quiet the derogatory opinion swapping. They looked to her and then beyond her to Charlie who was wide eyed, a smile quivering just out of reach of his lips. "Charlie here is looking for them, you wouldn't know where he could get in touch do you?"

Constance shook her head. "No, only know the name from the rehearsal last week."

"I don't know where they live exactly. I know they live near me – well, I think they do – I saw them in Tesco's the other day." Charlie's full attention was now fixed on May. She was frowning and rubbing her chin with a weathered hand. She, however, suddenly became very interested in why Charlie was searching for him. "Is it important you get hold of them?"

"May, is it? Can I call you May?" Charlie came forward a few paces as May nodded. "Could you tell me roughly whereabouts? It – I, erm – I need to find Mr. Weasley. He's my- he's a relative of mine and I haven't seen him for a while." Although hope and excitement burned through him, Charlie managed to suppress it and refrain from acting like his birthday had come early.

"Brixton way," As soon as it was out of her mouth, Charlie was striding out of the church with a profusion of thanks. He laughed, giddy. He'd done it! He'd found his dad and it had only taken two days! Unable to believe his luck, he staggered down the church path and descended the few steps to the pavement below. Crossing the road after waiting for a car to pass him by, he disappeared into a narrow cutting. Shouldn't be too hard to pinpoint him now, he thought, Brixton Way – easy enough to find the street… and with a crack, he apparated home. It never occurred to him that Brixton would not be a single street.

--- --- ---


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11_**

**A Little Tricky**

Once home, Charlie was relieved to see his mother bustling about the garden, a gaggle of hens following in her wake. He called to her and raised his hand in greeting, smiling. Molly responded in kind though her usually warm smile seemed strained. Charlie decided it best to let her approach him again at her own pace, and so disappeared into the house through the back door. She would be in soon enough, if she wanted to talk or else enquire as to where he had been. He was unsure what he should tell if she wished to broach the latter. Perhaps he could say he had been catching up with a few old school mates?

In the kitchen, Fleur cradled her young son with the ease of a natural mother. He was swathed in pale blue lambs-wool, including little baby booties, with a creamy white shawl about him, trailing down to the floor to make sure he was warm. A little arm reached up to his mother's pretty face as he babbled happily to her, perhaps telling her of the dream he had the night before, or maybe asking why she was so beautiful.

"Ah, bonjour, Charlie," The part-veela seemed to glow when she clapped eyes on him. "Ca va?" The second-son looked at her, bemused. He understood bonjour right enough, any one knew that one but the second part evaded him completely. His mild gold-fish impression entertained Fleur, however, and her silvery laughter had her son imitating her.

"It means, how are you?" She leant towards him as she spoke in a slightly condescending manner, suppressing her laughter at the simple question.

"Oh! Sorry, yeah, I'm great thanks. Yourself? And what about you little man?" Charlie grinned at his nephew. William appeared to be aware of this change of attention to himself and offered a well placed "Dah!". At least it seemed to be the case. The adults chuckled.

"You are you?" Charlie continued as if the baby had said something quite profound, eliciting further laughter.

"William, this is your Uncle Charlie," Although the introduction was lost on William, he gurgled happily, appreciating the sound of his mother. His gummy smile was broad, showing the first signs of teething. The formality of introduction was something all mothers enjoyed doing with their children, to show them off with pride in their hearts.

"He's lovely, Fleur – aren't you, hey?" William giggled, ecstatic, blowing raspberries at them, as Charlie tickled his belly gently. The dragon tamer had always had a soft spot for babies, that this one was human made little difference. "How old is he now?"

"Seven months. I can hardly believe it has been so long, already…" A faraway look clouded her vision and in her contented smile there was a flicker of something more. "It is hard to think that I am only twenty-three and a mother-" If she had been about to say more, she halted mid-sentence and sighed a long drawn out sigh. "Still, I cannot complain. I have a beautiful son, a nice home and a loving family,"

Charlie, meanwhile, had started slicing two doorstops out of the rustic loaf that was in abundance at the Weasley house. The butter dish was already out, alongside a wedge of crumbly cheese, waiting for him to make into a sandwich. He looked over his shoulder as she spoke, showing he was still interested in what she had to say. It was never a good idea to cause offence amongst new people, especially those who would be sticking around for, he hoped, a good many years to come. That, and Bill would probably try and kick his ass if he upset his gorgeous wife and the enmity of his brother was not something he wanted.

"Oh, la la, there I go again. Wondering off into some dream. Come; tell me of your day, hm? What have you been up to this morning?" The blonde woman came to stand near his shoulder, leaning against the worktop, her son cradled in her arms. In the light from the kitchen window she looked like one of the angelic effigies he had seen in one of the churches, perhaps a blonde version of their hallowed Virgin Mary. He concentrated on his lunch, looking at her pretty face only briefly.

"Nothing, really," He shrugged, opening the cutlery draw to find a butter knife.

"And 'nothing' has kept you away all morning?" She inquired, but spoke unobtrusively, averting her attention by scrunching her nose at her baby. Had any other woman been married to his eldest brother and behaving like this, he would have been rather uncomfortable. As it was, Fleur had enough tact to displace this feeling, at least, for the most part.

"Well, I was…sightseeing," He offered, thinking quickly. He doubted she would accept it but he needed to keep his family in the dark. He couldn't let them know what he was planning, nor could he tell them he was close. He did not yet trust Fleur; for all that she seemed to be a pleasant and caring young woman.

As he expected, she raised disbelieving eyebrows at him but did not press the matter. Instead, she took a slice of the cheese he had cut, popping it into her mouth with a cheeky little smile. "Oi," The red-head grinned. "Robbing my lunch,"

"It tastes, as you English say, much better when stolen," She chuckled, reaching for another, laughing a little louder when Charlie tapped her hand. "You Weasley's are all the same. So possessive of your food," She smirked at him.

"Well, you have to be in this house otherwise it's gone," Charlie told her, gesticulating with his butter knife. "You pause for more than fifteen seconds when you're eating and one of them's nicking stuff off your plate. The fork comes into play then, though."

"Why's that?" She giggled. Fleur knew the scene well, being part of the Weasley clan now and had grown used to their over-familiar ways.

"Quick stab in the hand, you know, and they'll move to the plate on the other side instead. Came in good use though at the reserve. They're just as bad over there, except I had the advantage of coming from a house with five brothers trying to rob me all the time," They shared a laugh, William joining in, not wanting to be left out.

"I shall certainly bear that in mind, Charlie-"

"What's that?" Bill had entered the kitchen, looking between the pair to be filled in on their subject of discussion.

"Just giving Fleur a few Dinner-time tactics," Charlie ended with a large bite into his sandwich, turning around to see his taller, leaner brother embrace his wife. It seemed awkward, though that may have had something to do with the fact that William was between them. Charlie was not convinced by the peck on the forehead Bill gave Fleur either, though he said nothing. It was not his place to question the public affection his brother showed.

"Been looking for you anyway," The elder Weasley said, dismissing Fleur by his switch of attention. She seemed used to this, and wandered from the room, wiggling William's chubby little fist and cooing to him in soft French. The last Charlie saw of her was as she lent down and kissed the curled digits.

"Mm?" Charlie intoned around a mouthful of bread and cheese, meaning for Bill to continue.

"Yeah," Bill's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "About Percy's birthday…"

--- -- --- ---

"I'd love to," Amelia beamed at Ron, hugging him tightly to her. The Ministry canteen was brimming with life, people of all professions bustling and jostling to get their lunch and Ron had just asked Amelia to accompany him to Percy's birthday party.

"Not sure how I'll introduce you though…" Ron grinned, mischief brimming in his brown eyes. "This bird I met?" He chuckled and was swiped at as punishment. "Or maybe this beautiful woman?" She pouted, pressing a little closer to him.

"Better…" Their lips were just inches apart now and her cool blue gaze met his own.

"Or what about…the love of my life?"

"Mmm, I like that one," They kissed, intending it to be brief, uncaring of their surroundings, but Ron quickly deepened it, not wanting to let her go. To him, she was the perfect woman in every respect and he bristled with pride every time she looked over at him, every time they met, every time they made love. He wanted the whole world to know how he felt about her; he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. If his family didn't like it, well, they would have to overcome their apprehensions. He intended that Amelia should stay around for long while to come.

As they parted, he brushed a stray hair from her face carefully, letting his hand trace her cheek down to her nicely pointed chin. He was tempted to kiss her again, but he knew once more would lead to another and then they would end up being late from their lunch break – a kiss would not satiate him after a certain point, nor would it satisfy her. Instead, he took her hand in his much larger ones and led her from the canteen. They would take a walk, he decided.

It didn't matter that they were going out for a drink later that evening, or that she would wear that necklace Vance had bought for her – it now being her most favoured of all her jewellery – because every minute with her was like flying. It didn't matter that Vance was a rich, stuck-up prat because Ron had Amelia and she loved _him._ He didn't even think to be smug about it, not when he was caught in her blue eyes. All he could think of was she, how beautiful she was, how perfect she was.

As they left the canteen, lost in each other, an irate Percy met them in the doorway. Amelia almost crashed into him and he had to quickly sidestep out of their way, turning back to berate them in their lack of respect for Ministry Officials, but he stopped. That was Ron, he realised, shocked. Ron, his little brother, was going out with Amelia Permain; as in top-class auror, ten years his senior; as in Bill's ex-girlfriend.

"What's he playing at?" Percy muttered to himself, scowling in their direction. He resolved to question Ron when they got home, he had other things to do and only a few minutes to grab a bite to eat. It was true at least, that every Weasley was more atuned to where there next meal would come in during the day than to the investigating of otherwise ground-breaking events. Missing a meal, for any reason, was out of the question, even for Percy.

Shaking his head, the third brother entered the canteen proper, scanning briefly for a seat. He was in luck, a number of tables were only half full now and the lunch line was considerably smaller than he expected. The Auror recruits had obviously not been let out of training yet, he thought with a grin. Then he took a tray and joined the queue.

Ron however, was not far from his thoughts as he waited. His brother had always been appreciative, to put it pleasantly, of the fairer sex, as had the other Weasley men, and particularly so of Fleur. That was understandable though, seeing as she was part veela. It was a bit strange though, Percy noted, that his little brother should have gone for a blonde, when everyone had been sure he and Hermione would end up with one another.

But that, he pondered, was another matter entirely. Percy wasn't blind to people's actions, however subtle they may be executed, nor was he deaf. He listened to gossip and whispers, just like many other people did. He had been surprised though, to hear that his _elder_ brother, and not Ron, had arrived in a certain department not too far from his own, and taken the witch in question out to lunch. Hermione and Charlie…now _that_ would be an interesting topic for the table tonight, Percy beamed. Bookish he may be, but he had his own mischievous Weasley streak.

---- -- --- --

As could be imagined, his brothers kept Charlie from continuing his search. Apparently they had decided to throw Percy a birthday party, and as these things always were with the Weasley's, at the last minute. As a result, Charlie had been dragged from pub to club by Bill for most of the afternoon, seeing if they could fit fifty people in – as the guest list seemed to include a larger-than-usual amount for a Weasley birthday and could not be held at the Burrow.

Once they had found the Windmill could take that many at short notice, and a sum had exchanged hands, Charlie had thought he would be able to return to his previous business. He was, in fact, very wrong, for no sooner had he and Bill returned to the Burrow than Ginny was dragging him out of the door to help her stock up for the catering. Her excuse at the time was that he was the strongest Weasley available and besides that, Molly had been seen lurking with a pair of scissors. That could only mean the boys – or rather, the Weasley men – would be pinned to a chair and forced to undergo a haircut. At the mere mention of the word, Charlie had been more than willing to accompany his sister.

By the time he had lugged the heavy bags out of the supermarket, he was beginning to wonder whether he should have suffered the haircut. The plastic carrier bags were cutting into his fingers in their usual irritating way, making the process of carrying much more painful. He was stood at the till waiting for Ginny to pay the cashier at present, and she was taking her time about it.

"There's hundred, ten…and, hang on a minute-" She was muttering the cash amount to herself and the till girl while fumbling for coins in her purse. The girl on the till seemed more interested in his straining musculature than taking the money from his sister, however.

Finally, Ginny located the few pound coins she had been searching for and handed them over. The till girl smiled politely and punched some buttons as Ginny glance back at her brother. Charlie was smiling at her, shaking his head slowly.

"What?" She smiled, feeling foolish for some reason but the girl at the till diverted her attention. She took the long receipt, stowing it in her jeans pocket and dropped her change in after it. She had already put her purse away out of habit and couldn't be bother to take it out again to put a few coppers in. Bending, Ginny picked up the remaining bags that were mostly of bread, cakes and vegetables and the till-girl turned to serve the next in a long cue.

"Take it I have all the heavy ones?" Charlie smiled at her as they came out into the sunshine and busy car park. Ginny nodded and laughed. "Typical." They passed over a zebra crossing to a pedestrian walkway leading to the exit and back alleys where they could apparate home.

"I'd have brought Harry but he's at work till six, besides, you're stronger than he is and can carry more," At his sister's words, Charlie affected a mock look of being unimpressed, shaking his head lightly. Shadow passed over them as they reached the side streets, the old brick of the houses either side exuding a cooling temperature that was not unwelcome.

"You could have brought Bill, you know," Charlie grinned. The smile on Ginny's face faded and she looked awkwardly away, focusing upon the littered tarmac. "Ginny? Are you alright?"

"Oh…nothing, I- erm, it's nothing," She shook her head, offering a weak smile, pushing in front of her brother. Hurrying after his long-legged sister, he tried to call her back but to no avail. His bags were weighting him down. With a short pop she had apparated home and all Charlie could do was follow. He checked quickly around and used wandless magic to apparate back to the Burrow driveway.

Ginny was already a good way ahead of him and it was unlikely he'd get to question her further. His sister was a bright and bubbly sort of girl, being taken by sudden swings into quiet and troubled expression was not something she did. It was certainly unusual – but perhaps they had had an argument of some kind? She and Bill? Unthinkable, Bill was her favourite brother, always had been…hadn't he?


	12. Chapter 12

AN: It's been a long time in the coming and i apologise. Work and uni and all that shebang has taken over :( More will come soon!

**Library Of Dragons**

**Chapter Twelve  
**

**Owl Post**

"Ginny!" Charlie yelled the minute the burrow came into sight, his sister's long red hair marking her position half way up the driveway. She ignored him, continuing her steady, determined pace to the house. "Ginny!" He shouted again, breaking into an awkward jog to catch up with her. He drew abreast, passed her and then turned, stopping her progress.

He tried to study her features, tried to assess what was wrong between her and Bill, but at present all he could see was that she upset and annoyed. Charlie put the shopping bags down either side of him and took Ginny's arms as much to keep her still enough to get her to look at him. She was avoiding meeting his eyes, afraid that he would see.

"What?" She huffed, defensive now. He could see her closing down in front of him. Anything he could have hoped to glean from her reaction was lost and now he was faced with the usually insurmountable Weasley temper.

"I just want to know what's up. What sort of big brother would I be if I didn't care?" Charlie chanced a smile at her but she rolled her brown eyes at him and shook her head. "Have you and Bill fallen out or something-"

"No! It's nothing, Charlie, nothing's up," She snapped at him, again, carefully avoiding meeting his gaze. He'd always had a way of making her crumble when she tried to resist his inquisitive stare. She wouldn't say, she mustn't.

"Look, obviously something's bothering you, Gin-Gin –"

"Don't call me that!" She hissed, rage literally dripping from every syllable, fire flashing over an intense glare. Charlie, startled by her sudden hatred, an emotion stronger than what he would have expected from his little sister, let her arms go. She shoved past him and entered the house. The door slammed shut with such a force, Charlie half expected it to fall from the hinges. He remained, staring after her. Stunned.

--

Time seemed to escape Charlie as the weekend progressed. He was called into one errand after another, helping his mum, his brothers, his sister-in-law with various tasks. Creating reams of magical garlands, selecting coloured paper for Percy's birthday gifts, dropping in orders with the bakers in Ottery St. Catchpole, picking up Fleur's dry cleaning from Madame Ying's in Diagon Alley – all the while being accosted by smiling faces shaking hands and commenting on how well he looked.

"Charlie!"

"Hey there, Mr. Wallbank, how's the leg?"

"Little on the wooden side, eh Charlie,"

"Is that Charlie Weasley? Well bless my socks and strike me pink it is!"

"Mrs. Crockford, how are you? How's Feodora?"

"Hey-up Charlie, come back to home shores, have you?"

"Sedgely! Yeah, for a bit…" Corvin, Stukely, Dredge, Kennedy, Pool, Big Jim, Gav, Boris, Matches, Twinks - Charlie's head swam. It seemed the more he tried to get on and do the tasks assigned for him, the more intent people were in talking to him. He had begun to wonder if he would make it out of Diagon alive.

After avoiding several invitations for a pint in the Leaky Cauldron, a snifter in The Comet or a quick tipple in the Cat And Fiddle from various old acquaintances, Charlie thought he'd finally escaped when a curious voice cut through the bustle of Saturday shoppers.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," When he turned, he had hardly expected to see the purple haired witch beaming at him, much less so holding a child by his restraints and with a second well on the way by the looks of her.

"Tonks…"

-- --

He had returned to the Burrow footsore and yawning widely later that evening with barely enough energy to eat his dinner and tramp upstairs to bed. He wasn't used to this sort of hardwork. Give him dragons any day; at least you didn't have to struggle to remember details a decade old. As sleep engulfed him, the vague memory of sending a letter to the smart witch currently staying at her parents surfaced. He groaned, rolled over and resolved to send it in the morning.

Sometime around three he was woken rudely by Fred and George returning from a night on the tiles. Fred – or was it George? – had fallen over a plant pot and nearly fallen on the cat while the other brother howled with laughter. Groggily, Charlie raised his head from the pillow. Darkness still filled the room and through his open curtains, starlight pricked the night. He was vaguely aware of his belt buckle digging into his hip and he heaved a sigh.

Then, somewhere outside, a low growl rent the air and woosh of air passed over the house detailing the progress of something heavy. Charlie, suddenly awake and disbeliving, staggered to the window, expecting to see the retreating form of a dragon, sailing through the cloudless sky into the distance. When he got there, an endless expanse of stars met him, the pale luminescence of the moon watching the world. Below, Fred was dragging George to his feet. If they had seen or heard anything, they didn't show it.

Sleep came slowly after that, and as the dawn crept into his room, Charlie pushed himself up from his bed and dressed for a run. He half contemplated shaking his twin brothers awake to ask them about a dragon, but decided against it. He was probably just dreaming and his brothers would hardly appreciate the impromptu wake-up call.

Dream or not, he donned his wand holster as a precaution and slipped his fingerless dragon-hide gloves on. The blackened leather fit snugly around his palms and seemed to shimmer a pale shade of purple, like petrol had been rubbed into them. Silver studs covered his knuckles, charmed to pack a little more bite if he hit anything.

-- --

Sunday passed much the way Saturday had, running errands for Percy's party while keeping it hushed behind a façade of housework. Well, not so much façade actually, rather doing both at once. Charlie kept his wand close despite sighting nothing on his morning run.

The world turned and the day wore on to the much awaited Sunday tea Molly had been preparing for some hours. As with his first night back, Harry arrived with Ginny, but unlike his first night, Ginny barely looked in his direction. Movement from upstairs signalled Percy had emerged from his work-filled room.

The whole family was assembled, waiting expectantly for dinner, all save for Fred and George. Stomachs rumbled, agitated and hungry knowing they would be denied their dinner if the twins weren't present. Just as Molly was about to shout her troublesome sons, footsteps were heard on the stairs. Satisfied, the Weasley matriarch began handing out the plates to their respective recipients.

"Evening Mrs. Weasley," A female voice said nervously. All eyes shot round to the stairway where a rather attractive girl stood, dressed in a pair of Ginny's jeans and one of Fred's Weasley jumpers. Her skin was the colour of rich coffee and her hair was caught back in two small bunches.

"Oh, hello Angelina. Fred didn't tell me you were coming for dinner, but don't worry there's plenty left over," Molly beamed at the unexpected guest. A heartbeat later and Fred was by her side, pulling her over to the table. Molly gave him the 'look' that clearly said she was not impressed, knowing full well Angelina had stayed over and every Weasley knew Molly's thoughts on pre-nuptial activities.

"Angel, this is my brother Charlie," Fred smiled. Charlie nodded at her. "Just been selected to play against the Pride of Portree. Could be short-listed for England if they win," Pleased as punch with his Quidditch-playing girlfriend, Fred wound a possessive arm around her waist, his chest unconsciously puffed out.

"Congratulations. What team is it you play for?" Charlie asked, quietly wondering how he could have missed her with Fred and George being so loud. Maybe she had come earlier in the morning? He pushed the thought aside.

"Holyhead Harpies. Thankyou Mrs. Weasley," She gave a grateful smile as the steaming plate of food was put out before her.

"Shift up then you lot, top model coming through," George chuckled as he finally entered, his own girlfriend in tow. "Right this way, Miss Spinnet, right this way," He was rewarded with a playful swipe and a rather pink faced smile from Alicia.

But…Fred and George shared a bedroom, how- Charlie suppressed his imagination right there. However Fred and George managed privacy to be intimate with their significant others (or didn't…) Charlie did not want to know.

-- -- -- -- --

When Hermione finally made it to her flat that evening all she wanted to do was let Crookshanks out of his carry-box and slip into a nice hot bath. A small heap of letters had been posted through her door however, likely to have been dropped off in the foyer by whoever's owls had delivered them. She would have to thank Frank on the desk in the morning.

She dropped her bag onto the stoic couch in her living room cum dining room and lent down to open the carry-box. Her familiar stalked from it, his tail swishing grumpily and huffed away to the squashy arm chair in the corner. Shaking her head, she scooped up her mail and began sifting through them.

One was an advertisement from Flourish and Blotts detailing their sale on personalised stationary and correction-quills. Little better than junk mail really. The second was from Laura summarising the few developments of Saturday in the office. She read it through, consigning the details to memory and sighed heavily. Just when she thought she was getting on top of things, they have to bring something else into the matter. Typical Goblins…

The last letter was written in a hand she had not seen before. The script was too ornate for the typical ministry cursive, with large stylised capital letters before each of her names. There were curious points to the tails of some letters and odd slants to their tops, not unlike Viktor's but much more practised. A small frown creased her brows and she turned it over. An emerald green seal held the envelope closed and as she looked closer, she could just make out the shape of a dragon pressed into the wax, its wings outspread, its tail curling beneath it. With a quick swipe, she broke the seal and unfolded its contents.

_Hermione,_

_I've had some luck in tracing my father but didn't wish to proceed without first telling you. I recalled something from one of the churches I visited and spoke to the cleaners there. It turns out that one of them knows of him and roughly where he lives. Brixton Way. Have you ever heard of it? I'll ask at the tourist info place tomorrow._

_T__hings have calmed down a bit, I've met Angelina and Alicia, but it's still tense where Bill is concerned. I'm not getting much chance to talk to him; mum's running me ragged. Come and save me!_

_I__ think I need you to keep me sane. If I make one more set of garlands, I'll actually lose it. I've spoken to Gerald Hayes, the farmer down the lane, about twelve times this weekend to-ing and fro-ing from Ottery and back. I could probably tell you his life story by now…_

_A__nyway, I'll see you soon,_

_C__harlie_

There again at the bottom of the page was the little dragon, this time inked in his own hand. Hermione wondered briefly why the hardest looking Weasley should have the best writing. Surely there wasn't that much writing involved in Dragon Keeping? She shrugged, smiling. She couldn't really imagine Charlie charming strips of coloured paper into garlands, not with his musculature…

Putting the letter to one side, fighting the rising butterflies she disappeared into her bathroom and turned the hot tap on. With her hand gingerly testing the running water to ensure its temperature grew, she couldn't quite banish the thought of Charlie getting all hot and sweaty, lifting heavy things…_Oh come of it, Hermione!_ She chastised herself. _You sound like an airhead. Just because he's good-looking…and built like a bull…and he tames dragons…_

Leaving the bath to run, she returned to her living room and drew out parchment and ink. Then she wandered to the magical intercom that crackled into life at her touch.

"Hello Frank, thanks for dropping the letters up," She said, leaning her weight on one leg.

"No problem, sweetheart," Frank's friendly voice replied.

"I have a reply to send, would you mind sending an owl up?"

"Can do," Hermione thanked him and closed the connection with ease. After checking on her bath, she returned to her original task. Filling her quill, she sat down, intent on writing a quick response and leaving it at that.

_Charlie,_

_Glad to hear Molly's making you work hard! Guess she wasn't too thrilled about the twins springing their other-half's on her. They usually do that. _

_Never heard of Brixton Way. Check it out at the tourist info when you can and let me know. _

_See you Tuesday,_

_Hermione x_

After a moments thought, she decided to leave the kiss on. Maybe he would think it was just one of those things that girls did. She didn't usually do that but…she thought about crossing it out, changed her mind. Before she could debate further, there was a faint tap at the window. Crookshanks hissed at the brown owl demanding entrance.

Hermione crossed the room and pushed the window open. With a few deft movements, she secured the letter and the bird went on its way. Feeling better for the cool breeze floating through the now-open window, she left it to air the flat and returned to her bathroom.

Sinking into hot, bubbly water a few moments later, she exhaled heavily. The water soothed away the anxieties her parents incited in her. They never bickered between themselves, only when it was over her. Being their only child, she was always at the centre of their thoughts, something Hermione often found irritating. She knew they meant well and only wanted the best for her, but when they kept talking about how good looking 'that nice Justin boy' from work was or how charming 'that Irish chap, Finnegan' was, she felt like screaming.

No matter how many times she tried to tell them that Justin Finch-Fletchley was an arrogant toad or that Saemus was just a friend they insisted that either of those two would be a grand match for their little girl. Maybe that Percy Weasley if he weren't in a relationship. _"I just think it's time you found yourself a nice feller, thats all, dear,"_

And that was just the start. It quickly moved from there to her hair, her choice of clothing and on to her 'making the most of herself'. She shook her head and sank below the water, emerging a few seconds later. Pushing wet hair away from her face she soothed the irritations from the weekend away.

When she finally emerged from her bathroom wrapped in a bathrobe, the brown owl was waiting for her on the table, preening. There was a letter tied to its leg. She couldn't quite suppress the surge of excitement as she removed it and read.

_Hermione,_

_Is there something I should know about Bill and Fleur? It's just that Ginny seems very off with him and it seems there's something, well, not quite right about their relationship. Or have they fallen out about something else? I don't know, but Ginny hasn't spoken to me all weekend and if Harry glares at me one more time I'll-_

_I've tried speaking to Ginny, she won't even look at me. Bill doesn't seem to have a clue what it is, I just wondered if she might have said something to you. I'm concerned._

_Charlie_

_P.S. We're planning a surprise party at The Windmill for Percy. Show off my Romanian gladrags… x_

Oh dear. Trouble in the Weasley camp was not good. So far as she knew, there wasn't anything amiss, but maybe…Ginny had mentioned something a while back about Bill and Fleur, an argument. But it was just a short series of marital spats about nothing in particular, Ginny had said...Something in Hermione's brain refused to work quite correctly, however, and cruel as she felt, she couldn't help but push Ginny aside. It was probably some misunderstanding or Ginny was having serious PMS. Charlie had left a kiss...

-- --

Charlie stayed awake, long enough to receive a response. Had he been waiting for what many a wizard dubbed as the 'analog' system, it would have taken more than a handful of hours for the owl to fly to Hermione's flat and back. Now though, with something akin to the floo network, set up for mail, he received most letters within a few minutes. It was certainly complex and Charlie was sure if he asked Percy about it, he'd get a six-hour lecture on the politics behind it too.

With a screech, the owl flew into his bedroom, landing awkwardly after a moment on his chest of drawers. He petted the bird gently, offering up a treat to its waiting beak. While it chewed happily on its morsel, he read the letter from Hermione.

_Charlie,_

_I'll look into it. Discretely. For now, all I can suggest is stay out of her way and keep your eyes open where Bill is concerned. _

_Hermione_

_P.S. Thanks for the warning, I'll find something nice…I'm sure I have a dress somewhere… x_

Miss Granger in a dress. Charlie grinned.


End file.
